About the Authors

CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills & Boon books as a teenager and, now that she is writing them, she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma have always been, and continue to be, the greatest inspiration in her life.

ANNE MATHER and her husband live in the north of England in a village bordering the county of Yorkshire. It’s a beautiful area, and she can’t imagine living anywhere else. She’s been making up stories since she was in primary school and would say that writing is a huge part of her life. When people ask if writing is a lonely occupation, she usually says that she’s so busy sorting out her characters’ lives, she doesn’t have time to feel lonely. Anne’s written over one-hundred-andsixty novels, and her books have appeared on both the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She loves reading and walking and browsing in bookshops – now that her son and daughter are grown, she takes great delight in her grandchildren. You can email her at mystic-am@msn.com

Irish author ABBY GREEN threw in a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit www.abby-green.com or e-mail abbygreenauthor@gmail.com

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

After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories she loves reading, baking, and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com.

USA TODAY bestselling author HEIDI RICE lives in London, England. She is married with two teenage sons—which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche—and also works as a film journalist. She adores her job, which involves getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, funny, feisty women, sexy, tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn’t exist. Once she turns off her computer, she often does chores—usually involving laundry!

SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon style, they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights—I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!

RACHAEL THOMAS has always loved reading romance and is thrilled to be a Modern™ Romance author. She lives and works on a farm in Wales—a far cry from the glamour of a Modern story—but that makes slipping into her characters’ world all the more appealing. When she’s not writing or working on the farm she enjoys photography and visiting historic castles and grand houses. Visit her at www.rachaelthomas.co.uk

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com, or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and seventy books for Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, hoping that one day she might become published. Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her other passions in life – besides her family and reading/writing – are music and films.

LYNNE GRAHAM lives in Northern Ireland and has been a keen romance reader since her teens. Happily married, Lynne has five children. Her eldest is her only natural child. Her other children, who are every bit as dear to her heart, are adopted. The family has a variety of pets, and Lynne loves gardening, cooking, collecting all sorts and is crazy about every aspect of Christmas.

USA TODAY bestselling author LYNN RAYE HARRIS burst onto the scene when she won a writing contest held by Mills & Boon. The prize was an editor for a year – but only six months later, Lynn sold her first novel. A former finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award, Lynn lives in Alabama with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Her stories have been called ‘exceptional and emotional,’ ‘intense,’ and ‘sizzling.’

REBECCA WINTERS’ family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren. She lives in Salt Lake City, Utah. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website: www.cleanromances.com

SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of ‘Shirley and the Magic Purse’ with its army of mice, all with names beginning with the letter ‘m’. An avid reader, Scarlet trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor and now currently works in public health. For her, finding Medical Romance was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years. Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.

At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLAS was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘a writer.’ When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings.

Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com

Married to the man she met at eighteen, SUSANNE HAMPTON is the mother of two adult daughters—one a musician and the other an artist. The family also extends to a slightly irritable Maltese shih-tzu, a neurotic poodle, three elderly ducks and four hens that only very occasionally bother to lay eggs. Susanne loves everything romantic and pretty, so her home is brimming with romance novels, movies and shoes. With an interest in all things medical, her career has been in the dental field and the medical world in different roles, and now Susanne has taken that love into writing Mills & Boon Medical Romance.

SUSAN CARLISLE’s love affair with books began when she made a bad grade in math. Not allowed to watch TV until the grade had improved, she filled her time with books. Turning her love of reading into a love for writing romance, she pens hot Medicals. She loves castles, travelling, afternoon tea, reads voraciously and hearing from her readers. Join her newsletter at www.SusanCarlisle.com

LIZ FIELDING was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain—with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills, and these days mostly leaves her pen to do the traveling.

For news of upcoming books—and to sign up for her occasional newsletter—visit Liz’s website, www.lizfielding.com

MEREDITH WEBBER lives on the sunny Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia, but takes regular trips west into the Outback, fossicking for gold or opal. These breaks in the beautiful and sometimes cruel red earth country provide her with an escape from the writing desk and a chance for her mind to roam free and supply the kernels of so many stories it’s hard for her to stop writing!

New York Times bestselling author SHIRLEY JUMP didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing… and she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End.

KATE HARDY has always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: katehardy.com

MARION LENNOX has written more than a hundred romances and is published in over a hundred countries and thirty languages. Her multiple awards include the prestigious RITA® Award (twice), and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for “a body of work which makes us laugh and teaches us about love.” Marion adores her family, her kayak, her dog, and lying on the beach with a book someone else has written. Heaven!

JESSICA MATTHEWS’s interest in medicine began at a young age, and she nourished it with medical stories and hospital-based television programmes. After a stint as a teenage candy-striper, she pursued a career as a clinical laboratory scientist. When not writing or on duty, she fills her day with countless family and school-related activities. Jessica lives in the central United States, with her husband, daughter and son.

REBECCA WINTERS lives in Salt Lake City, Utah. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite holiday spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels because writing is her passion, along with her family and church. Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at: cleanromances.net

PATRICIA THAYER was born in Muncie, Indiana, the second of eight children. She attended Ball State University before heading to California. A longtime member of RWA, Patricia has authored fifty books. She’s been nominated for the Prestige RITA® award and winner of the RT Reviewer’s Choice award. She loves travelling with her husband, Steve, calling it research. When she wants some time with her guy, they escape to their mountain cabin and sit on the deck and let the world race by.

Approaching fifty Mills & Boon titles, DIANNE DRAKE is still as passionate about writing romance as ever. As a former intensive care nurse, it’s no wonder medicine has found its way into her writing, and she’s grateful to Mills & Boon Medicals for allowing her to write her stories. ‘They return me to the days I loved being a nurse and combine that with my love of the romance novels I’ve been reading since I was a young teen.’

BRENDA HARLEN is a multi-award winning author for Mills & Boon who has written over twenty-five books for the company.

LIZ FIELDING was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain. Seven of her titles have been nominated for RWA’s Rita®; and she has won the Best Traditional Romance in 2000, the British Romance Prize in 2005 and the Best Short Contemporary Romance in 2006.

Born and raised just outside of Toronto, Ontario, AMY RUTTAN fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. After the birth of her second child, Amy was lucky enough to realize her life long dream of becoming a romance author. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer, she’s a mum to three wonderful children who use her as a personal taxi and chef.

Secret Heirs Collection and A Forever Family Collection

Secret Heirs: Their Baby Bargain

Cathy Williams, Anne Mather and Abby Green

Secret Heirs: Billionaire’s Pleasure

Sharon Kendrick, Kate Hewitt and Heidi Rice

Secret Heirs: Royal Appointment

Susan Stephens, Carol Marinelli and Maya Blake

Secret Heirs: Baby Scandal

Rachael Thomas, Kate Hewitt and Annie West

Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence

Annie West, Carole Mortimer and Maggie Cox

Secret Heirs: Price of Success

Lynne Graham, Cathy Williams and Lynn Raye Harris

His Unexpected Family

Rebecca Winters, Scarlet Wilson and Michelle Douglas

Their Miracle Child

Susanne Hampton, Jessica Matthews and Susan Carlisle

Falling For You

Liz Fielding, Meredith Webber and Shirley Jump

Their Christmas Delivery

Kate Hardy, Marion Lennox and Jessica Matthews

Reunited by their Baby

Rebecca Winters, Patricia Thayer and Dianne Drake

Their Doorstep Delivery

Brenda Harlen, Liz Fielding and Amy Ruttan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90691-7

SECRET HEIRS COLLECTION AND A FOREVER FAMILY COLLECTION

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby © 2015 Cathy Williams An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed © 2017 Anne Mather An Heir to Make Their Marriage © 2016 Abby Green Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress © 2017 Sharon Kendrick Engaged for Her Enemy’s Heir © 2017 Kate Hewitt The Virgin’s Shock Baby © 2017 Heidi Rice A Night of Royal Consequences © 2017 Susan Stephens The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal © 2016 Carol Marinelli The Sultan Demands His Heir © 2017 Maya Blake From One Night to Wife © 2015 Rachael Thomas Larenzo’s Christmas Baby © 2015 Kate Hewitt A Vow to Secure His Legacy © 2016 Annie West Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child © 2009 Annie West The Infamous Italian’s Secret Baby © 2009 Carole Mortimer Mistress, Mother…Wife? © 2011 Maggie Cox The Secrets She Carried © 2012 Lynne Graham The Secret Sinclair © 2012 Cathy Williams The Change in Di Navarra’s Plan © 2013 Lynn Raye Harris A Marriage Made in Italy © 2013 Rebecca Winters The Boy Who Made Them Love Again © 2011 Scarlet Wilson The Cattleman’s Ready-Made Family © 2013 Michelle Douglas A Baby To Bind Them © 2015 Susanne Panagaris Six-Week Marriage Miracle © 2011 Jessica Matthews The Nurse He Shouldn’t Notice © 2012 Susan Carlisle The Last Woman He’d Ever Date © 2013 Liz Fielding A Forever Family for the Army Doc © 2017 Meredith Webber One Day to Find a Husband © 2013 Shirley Kawa-Jump, LLC Her Festive Doorstep Baby © 2016 Pamela Brooks Meant-to-Be Family © 2015 Harlequin S.A. The Child Who Rescued Christmas © 2011 Jessica Matthews Baby out of the Blue © 2013 Rebecca Winters Her Baby Wish © 2009 Patricia Wright Doctor, Mummy…Wife? © 2016 Dianne Despain Baby Talk & Wedding Bells © 2017 Brenda Harlen Secret Baby, Surprise Parents © 2009 Liz Fielding Alejandro’s Sexy Secret © 2016 Amy Ruttan

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Secret Heirs Collection

Secret Heirs: Their Baby Bargain

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

An Heir to Make a Marriage

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Secret Heirs: Billionaire’s Pleasure

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Engaged for Her Enemy’s Heir

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Virgin’s Shock Baby

Back Cover Text

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Secret Heirs: Royal Appointment

A Night of Royal Consequences

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal

Back Cover Text

PROLOGUE

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

The Sultan Demands His Heir

Back Cover Text

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

EPILOGUE

Secret Heirs: Baby Scandal

From One Night to Wife

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Larenzo’s Christmas Baby

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence

Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Infamous Italian’s Secret Baby

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mistress, Mother…Wife?

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Secret Heirs: Price of Success

The Secrets She Carried

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

The Secret Sinclair

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

The Change in Di Navarra’s Plan

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

A Forever Family Collection

His Unexpected Family

A Marriage Made in Italy

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

The Boy Who Made Them Love Again

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

The Cattleman’s Ready-Made Family

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Their Miracle Child

A Baby to Bind Them

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

Six-Week Marriage Miracle

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Nurse He Shouldn’t Notice

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Falling For You

The Last Woman He’d Ever Date

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A Forever Family for the Army Doc

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

One Day to Find a Husband

Back Cover Text

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

Their Christmas Delivery

Her Festive Doorstep Baby

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Meant-To-Be Family

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Child Who Rescued Christmas

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Reunited by their Baby

Baby Out of the Blue

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Her Baby Wish

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Doctor, Mummy…Wife?

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Their Doorstep Delivery

Baby Talk & Wedding Bells

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Secret Baby, Surprise Parents

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alejandro’s Sexy Secret

Back Cover Text

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Secret Heirs Collection

Secret Heirs: Their Baby Bargain

Cathy Williams, Anne Mather and Abby Green

Secret Heirs: Billionaire’s Pleasure

Sharon Kendrick, Kate Hewitt and Heidi Rice

Secret Heirs: Royal Appointment

Susan Stephens, Carol Marinelli and Maya Blake

Secret Heirs: Baby Scandal

Rachael Thomas, Kate Hewitt and Annie West

Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence

Annie West, Carole Mortimer and Maggie Cox

Secret Heirs: Price of Success

Lynne Graham, Cathy Williams and Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Secret Heirs

COLLECTION

July 2019

Secret Heirs:Baby Bargain

August 2019

Secret Heirs:Billionaire’s Pleasure

September 2019

Secret Heirs:Royal Appointment

October 2019

Secret Heirs:Baby Scandal

January 2020

Secret Heirs:His One Night Consequence

February 2020

Secret Heirs:Price of Success

Secret Heirs: Their Baby Bargain

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby

Cathy Williams

An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed

Anne Mather

An Heir to Make a Marriage

Abby Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby

Cathy Williams

To my three wonderful and inspiring daughters.

CHAPTER ONE

FROM THE VERY second Susie walked into the restaurant she knew she had made a big mistake. It joined the other three big mistakes she had made in the past fortnight. Making mistakes was beginning to feel like a full-time occupation.

What had possessed her to wear high heels? Why was she clutching a silly little bag with sequins, borrowed from one of her friends? And how on earth had she found herself in a ridiculous small red dress which had screamed sexy and glamorous when she had tried it on earlier in the week but now shrieked…sad and desperate?

Utterly grateful that she had wisely shunned the flamboyant checked coat which she had been tempted to buy with the dress, and had instead chosen something slightly more sober, she wrapped her black cape tightly round her, making sure to conceal every single square inch of the stupid red dress.

So what the heck should she do now? she wondered.

Date number four was there and seated at the bar. In a couple of seconds he would look round and he would spot her. She had told him that she would be wearing red. The red might be concealed under the cape but how many other lonesome single girls were there here? None.

His picture on the online dating agency she used had seemed so promising, but one glance at him showed her that it had been a cruel lie.

He wasn’t tall. Even though he was sitting she could see that. His feet dangled. Nor was he surfer blond…more wet sand than surf, to be perfectly honest…and he looked at least twenty years older than in his photograph. Furthermore he was wearing a bright yellow jumper and trousers that were vaguely mustard in colour.

She should have actually chatted with him on the phone instead of rushing headlong into a date. She should have relied on more than a couple of flirty messages and one email. She would have known then that he might be the sort of guy who wore yellow jumpers and mustard-coloured trousers. But instead she had jumped right in at the deep end and now here she was…

She felt faint.

This was an expensive bar/restaurant. It was the latest in hip and cool. People had to wait for months to get a booking. The only reason she had been able to get one was because her parents had had to cancel at the last minute and had told her that she could go along in their place. They had asked her to report back on the food—they wanted details.

‘Take a friend,’ her mother had said, with just the amount of weary resignation that seemed to hallmark everything she said to her. ‘You surely must know someone who isn’t absolutely broke…’

By which she had meant, You must know a man who isn’t scraping by without a decent job…someone who doesn’t play in a band in bars…or doesn’t slouch around in between acting jobs that never come up…or isn’t currently saving to go on a world trip, taking in the Dalai Lama on the way…

The mere fact that online date number four had heard of this place had been a point in his favour.

Silly assumption on her part.

Her fundamental sense of decency warred with a pressing urge to turn tail and scarper before she was spotted—but how could she scarper when she knew her parents would want to know all about the experience? It wasn’t as though she could wing it…make it up as she went along. She was rubbish at lying and her mother was gifted at spotting lies.

Yet she knew what the outcome of this would be before it even started. She knew they would make stilted conversation but would both be keen to end it. She knew that the conversation would run out sometime after the starter but they would both feel obliged to stay until the main course and she knew they would definitely leave without dessert or coffee. She felt he might make her pick up the tab. He would definitely insist on going Dutch. He would probably work out exactly who had eaten what and calculate the bill accordingly.

Already in the grip of uncertainty and a mild depression that she had found herself in this situation yet again, Susie glanced around the crowded restaurant.

It was buzzing with cool people. The bar area was busy and the restaurant, which was off to one side, a marvel of glass, chrome and plants, was likewise packed.

Couples and groups were everywhere…except at the back… Sitting at the best table in the place was…a guy…

For a few seconds her heart actually flipped over, because she had never seen anyone quite so stunningly good-looking in her life before. Raven-black hair, bronzed skin that spoke of some sort of exotically foreign gene pool, perfectly chiselled features… When the Big Guy above had been dishing out looks he had been first in the queue.

He was sitting in front of his laptop, oblivious to everyone around him. The sheer cheek of having a laptop on the table in one of the most sought-after restaurants in the city was impressive. As was the fact that he wasn’t dressed for show. He was in a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved faded black jumper that fitted him in a way that revealed a lean, muscular body. Everything about him suggested that he didn’t care where he was or who was looking at him, and there was an invisible exclusion zone around him that implied that no one should dare get too close.

He was just the sort of guy she should have found, scrolling through all those possibilities on the dating website—although, that said, he was probably just the sort of guy who had probably never heard of a dating website. Why would he?

And he was on his own.

The table wasn’t set for two. There was a drink in front of him but he had shoved his plate and all the cutlery to one side. She was sure that there was some kind of unwritten rule about doing something like that in a place like this but he was pulling it off.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the maître d’, who had swooped down to ask her whether she had reservation and said airily, ‘I’m with…’

She pointed to the stranger at the back of the room and tried to smile knowingly. She had never done anything like this in her life before. But faced with the horror of date number four, the certainty of being spotted, the necessity to stay put until it was safe to slink to the table she had reserved and sample the food…desperation had made her act out of character.

‘Señor Burzi…?’

‘Absolutely!’ If only she could scuttle back to the apartment in her glad rags to sit in front of the telly with a chocolate bar and a glass of wine. Right now that would have been heaven.

But she couldn’t—and right now she didn’t want to think anyway. She just didn’t want to spend another evening on her own, dealing with what her parents and her sister had been telling her for the past three years…that she had to ‘get some direction’ in her life…that she should start thinking about a career instead of painting pictures and drawing cartoon characters…that she was ‘so lucky’ to have been given the education that she had and that she owed it to herself to make the best of it… Perhaps they weren’t quite so brutally honest, but she could read between the lines.

‘Is Señor Burzi expecting you, Miss…?’

‘Of course he is! I wouldn’t be asking to join him if he wasn’t, would I?’

She began walking purposefully over to the dark, sexy stranger, hoping and praying that her date wouldn’t spot her, and hoping and praying even more that the maître d’ wouldn’t create an embarrassing fuss and chuck her out.

Head down, she practically collided with the table, and was aware of two piercing dark eyes shifting from the computer to her flushed face as she plopped down in one of the empty chairs.

‘What the hell…? Who the hell are you?’

‘Señor Burzi…this lady said that she was expecting to join you…’

‘I’m really sorry. I know I’m probably interrupting you. But, please…could you just bear with me for a few minutes? I…I’m in a bit of a sticky situation…’

‘Show her out, Giorgio, and next time please don’t make the mistake of bringing anyone to my table unless I tell you to.’

His voice was deep and dark and velvety and perfectly matched the way he looked. His attention had returned to whatever was on his computer. She was dismissed. She would be chucked out of the restaurant.

Panic filled her. Panic and just…just a feeling of hopelessness. She should never have been persuaded by her two best friends into this crazy online dating situation. The thought of being escorted out of the restaurant like a common criminal, while everyone including her yellow-jumpered date turned and stared and sniggered, was just too much.

‘Just a few minutes. I just need somewhere to…er…sit for a few minutes…’

This time the man did look up, and she had to force herself not to stare because up close he was even better looking than he had appeared from a distance. His eyes were navy blue and he had eyelashes to die for—long, thick and dark, and right now fringing eyes that were the temperature of ice.

‘Not my problem. And how the hell did you find out that I was going to be here?’ he asked coldly. He spared a glance for the maître d’, who was hovering and wringing his hands. ‘Leave us, Giorgio. I’ll get rid of her myself.’

‘Sorry?’ Susie looked at him blankly.

‘I haven’t got time for this. I have no idea how you found out where I was, but now that you’re here let me make myself perfectly clear. Whatever begging mission you’re on, you can forget it. Charitable donations are handled by my company. Donations of any other nature are not on the table. And a word to the wise…? Next time you get it into your head to start digging for gold, try being a little more subtle. Now, I’m giving you the option of making a dignified exit or being thrown out. Which one would you rather go for?’

Angry colour had seeped into her cheeks as the meaning of what he was saying gradually became clear.

She had no idea who the man was, but he actually thought that she had targeted him! Thought that she was making a play for him because she wanted to ask him for money!

‘Are you accusing me of coming here to ask you for money?’

The man gave a bark of humourless laughter and raked his eyes over her. ‘Clever deduction. Now, what’s your choice of exit going to be?’

‘I didn’t come here to ask for money. I don’t even know who you are…’

‘Now, I wonder why I find that hard to believe?’

‘Please—just hear me out. I honestly don’t make it a habit to approach strange men in…er…bars…or even expensive restaurants…but I won’t be long…’

She had as much right to be here as he did. Admittedly not actually at his table, but in the restaurant…generally speaking.

She actually had her own table booked, and would be forking out for some very expensive food just as soon as her blind date left and she could relax—and that was more than could be said for him, judging from the way his plate had been shoved to one side. One drink wasn’t going to make the restaurant owner a rich guy, was it? In fact he was just the sort of customer a restaurant owner would hate! The sort of customer who booked a table, had a drink, made it last for four hours and refused to budge for the remainder of the evening.

‘I haven’t come here because I’m targeting you for money,’ she repeated urgently, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. ‘And, by the way, I feel very sorry for you if you can’t talk to a stranger for three minutes without thinking that they’re going to ask you to put your hand in your pocket and write them out a cheque! You’re the only person in this place on your own and I…I…just need to kill a little time before I’m shown to my table. I do have, actually, a valid reservation. And I will be eating.’

She took a deep breath and powered on before he had a chance to throw her out on her ear—because, whether she had a valid reason to be there or not, she certainly didn’t have a valid reason to gatecrash his table.

‘Do you see the guy sitting at the bar?’

Humiliation made her skin prickle. She had always been a people person. Finding herself stared at as though she was something that had crawled in off the streets—something that needed to be bagged and binned immediately—was a new experience for her and she didn’t like it.

His icy silence squashed her natural breeziness like a pin being stuck into a balloon.

Sergio Burzi was frankly incredulous. Had she just told him that she felt sorry for him or had he misheard? He felt as though he had been run over by a bus, and was momentarily too dazed to do anything but pick himself up and dust himself down.

‘There are a lot of guys at the bar,’ he said.

So she would eventually do one of two things. Ask outright for money for some hare-brained scheme or else try and cosy up to him. He was a target for gold-diggers, and gold-diggers came in all different shapes and sizes and plied their trade with the back-up of all sorts of sob stories and fairytales.

But he was between women…jaded with the opposite sex. He liked them clever, career-orientated…he liked women who had purposeful, goal-orientated lives, who weren’t clingy and emotional. He had had them by the bucketload, but recently…they did less and less for him. Not even the chase was as stimulating as it had used to be, and more often than not the ‘catch of the day’ became boring in a matter of weeks.

What was the harm in letting this woman sit with him for a couple of minutes before he got rid of her?

She was putting on a damn fine show and she was really rather attractive. Big brown eyes, blonde curly hair that looked as though it had only a passing acquaintance with a brush, full, sexy lips…

A sharp pang of pure lust hit him deep in the gut. He had a vivid image of how that cloud of strawberry blonde hair would look spread across his pillow, her pale skin against his much darker bronze.

It just showed how neglected his sex-life had been of late. He had dispatched his last girlfriend over two months ago and hadn’t had the energy or the desire to replace her.

And now this tawdry little gold-digger had stirred him up. He sat back, easing the discomfort of a sudden rock-hard erection, and gave her his undivided attention.

‘Which one are you talking about?’ he asked, angling his big body so that he could extend his long legs to one side. ‘And why should I be looking at him?’

Susie relaxed fractionally. He was prepared to listen to what she had to say. This would be the end of her learning curve. No more blind dates. Ever.

‘Yellow jumper. Mustard trousers. Thin sandy hair. Do you see him?’

Sergio glanced at the bar and then back to her flushed, earnest face. ‘I see him.’

He was beginning to enjoy himself. He could see Giorgio out of the corner of his eye, anxiously watching the table, ready to spring into action should he need to, and Sergio gave just the slightest shake of his head.

She was going round the houses to get to the point, but she had managed to pique his interest. That in itself was worth the storyline.

When she finally made a move on him he wondered whether he would take her up on the offer… She wasn’t his type, but wasn’t a change as good as a rest?

‘And you’ve pointed him out to me because…?’

‘He’s my blind date and I’m trying to avoid him.’

She groaned, looked at the man sitting opposite her, and her breathing picked up because those lazy, dark, fathomless eyes made her nervous and excited at the same time…gave her a weird, giddy feeling.

‘I met him on one of those dating websites,’ she confided glumly. ‘They cater for the under-thirties. You know the kind of thing…young people seeking serious relationships… It’s a lie. None of them are. I feel awful about standing up poor Phil, but I just can’t face another date frantically trying to make small talk while the minutes tick by at a snail’s pace…’

Sergio wondered what she would do if he called her bluff by going across to Mr Yellow Jumper and asking whether he was there to meet someone from a dating agency.

‘I guess he’s panicking because I’ve stood him up. I’d hate someone to stand me up. But, like I said, I just can’t face all that silly, pointless conversation…’

‘He doesn’t appear to be overly heartbroken. In fact he seems to be chatting up an older woman at the bar.’

‘What?’

‘Blonde hair…smartly dressed… Yes, they appear to be leaving…together…’ Maybe because she was his original date…

‘I don’t believe it! Didn’t I tell you?’ Susie said bitterly. ‘Serious relationships… Ha! One-night stand relationships, more like it.’

She might not have wanted to go through with the ordeal but she was insulted that she had been dumped without even being interviewed for the job.

‘Online dating isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Forget about all those pictures of starry-eyed couples gazing lovingly at one another over a romantic meal, or dashing along a beach grinning like star-struck maniacs and holding hands. It’s all just advertising. Just look at my date. He couldn’t even hang around and wait a few minutes for me to show up.’

‘I thought you were trying to avoid him?’

‘That’s not the point. The point is that he could have hung around a bit longer before making off with the first available woman who gave him the time of day!’

Susie wouldn’t have dreamt of finding her perfect guy via a computer—except for the fact that The Big Wedding was getting closer, and she couldn’t face showing up without any boyfriend in tow or, worse, with one of her arty, creative crowd who would be politely dismissed as yet another loser because ‘poor little Susie’ just didn’t seem to have what it took to find herself a halfway decent boyfriend.

Poor little Susie can’t even get her love-life in order…

She knew she shouldn’t care, but the big Three-Oh was only five years away and she suddenly and inexplicably felt that her time was running out. Surely it wasn’t asking too much for one part of her life to be sorted out?

‘I’ll make sure to steer clear of dating sites on the internet. Why don’t you have a glass of wine and take your coat off, by the way?’

‘There’s no need to keep chatting to me, Mr… Sorry, I’ve completely forgotten your name…’

‘You can call me Sergio. And you are…?’

‘Susie.’

She politely held out her hand and the warmth of his long fingers as he clasped it sent a jolt of electricity racing through her body, as though she had suddenly been plugged into a light socket. She almost wanted to rub her hand on her dress when it was released.

‘And I’ll leave you to get on with…er…what you were doing…’

Sergio toyed with the idea of calling her bluff and then decided against it. He hadn’t been this engaged for a while. The work that was waiting to be done could take a back seat.

He waved at his computer without taking his eyes from her face. ‘What does it look like I was doing?’

‘I know. Pretty dull. Work. I don’t know how you can concentrate in a place like this. I’d be too busy looking around and people-watching.’ She made a sympathetic face and began to stand up.

‘Sit.’

Sergio had made his mind up. So what if she was a gold-digger? She would discover soon enough that she had chosen the wrong place to go prospecting, but he was enjoying her company. He was certainly enjoying what she was doing to his body.

Susie frowned and hesitated. ‘Do you usually order people around?’

‘It comes naturally,’ he said, with a sudden smile that shook her to the core. ‘Arrogance is apparently one of my many faults…’

‘And you have a lot, do you? Faults, I mean…?’

‘Too many to mention. Now, you came here to eat and drink. Sit. Please. Allow me to replace your erstwhile date for the evening…’

He almost burst out laughing at the irony of his pretending to believe the little white lies she had told him but, hell, she was the most creative and amusing woman he had met in a long time.

Susie was charmed. Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, but how many men admitted to having failings? Most of them were far too busy Photoshopping their pictures, slashing twenty years off their real age and pretending that they weren’t five foot two.

And wasn’t he now inviting her to have dinner with him?

‘Why don’t you join me? My table is…’

She looked around for an empty table and sighed because it had probably been taken. Arriving late would not be an option for anyone who had booked a table in this place. There would be a long list of people waiting in the wings for tables booked by poor, hapless idiots who might have run into delays on the Underground or got snagged in traffic on the way.

‘Where…?’ Sergio made a show of trying to spot a vacant table.

‘Gone.’ She sighed again.

‘Oh, dear.’

‘I don’t normally do…this…’ she began, although a little thrill darted through her at the thought of having dinner with him.

He was so unlike any man she had ever met. Her last boyfriend, Aidan, had been a would-be writer who went on protest rallies, railed against ‘capitalist pigs’ and had now disappeared to the other side of the world, where he was bumming around in search of ideas for his next book, doing little jobs to keep himself going. They vaguely kept in touch.

‘Do what?’ Sergio inclined his head to one side.

‘Force myself on strangers and then accept meals from them. I’ll join you on one condition, and it’s that I pay for myself… I’d offer to pay for you as well, but I’m not in a great place financially at the moment…’

And she wouldn’t be there at all were it not for her parents’ generosity. She had always made it a point to go it on her own, but the temptation to have a free meal at the hottest ticket in town had been irresistible.

‘By which you mean…?’ Sergio signalled to a waiter for menus and then relaxed back, prepared to be amused.

‘I’m between jobs, in actual fact. Well, no, that’s not strictly true. I’m a freelance artist, but still quite new to the business. I haven’t had time to make many contacts so jobs are pretty thin on the ground at the moment. Things will pick up. I’m pretty sure of that. But it’s difficult breaking through… I make ends meet working at a pub near to where I live. I can only hope that I get some work soon—perhaps a long-term contract, which would be brilliant. Via word of mouth… Of course I’ve been in touch with every pu—’

‘Enough. Really not all that interested in the backstory. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the bottom line is that you’re broke because you can’t find regular work?’

‘It’s a competitive world out there when it comes to graphic art and illustrations…’

‘Indeed.’

‘I did a secretarial course when I left school…I had a few jobs doing secretarial work, but I didn’t enjoy it.’

‘Expensive choice of restaurant for someone who happens to be currently financially challenged.’

But then that wouldn’t be a consideration, bearing in mind she would have known, if she played her cards right that he would pick up the tab—and if not him, then any other lone punter. This wasn’t a place frequented by paupers. She was sex on legs and that worked nine times out of ten.

Susie opened her mouth to tell him that, actually, her parents would be the ones picking up the tab and promptly closed it—because how pathetic was that? She was twenty-five years old and still reliant on handouts from her parents for the occasional treat. Shame washed over her.

‘Sometimes…ah…you just have to splash out now and again…’ she countered feebly.

‘Maybe your online date would have done the gentlemanly thing and treated you to the meal,’ Sergio humoured her, ‘had he only stayed the course…’

‘I doubt that. Anyway, I wouldn’t have allowed him to do that. The last thing I would have wanted would have been to give him any ideas.’

‘Any ideas…?’

‘That if he paid for my meal he got me thrown in as an added extra…’

She reddened as Sergio looked at her with raised eyebrows.

‘And if I pay for your meal do you think that I might see you as dessert?’ he murmured.

All at once her head was full of images of him having her as his dessert…taking her to his bed, making love with her, touching and tasting her everywhere…

And the way he was looking at her…

It sent thrilling little shivers up and down her spine. His navy eyes were cool, speculative… She was a tasty little morsel and he was idly contemplating the pros and cons of sampling her…

That was what it felt like and, yes, it should have had her bristling with indignation but…it didn’t.

She licked her lips nervously—an unconsciously erotic little gesture that made Sergio shift in his chair, easing the pain of an erection that wasn’t going anywhere.

‘The coat,’ he reminded her softly. ‘Take it off.’

Susie obeyed. She got the feeling that people always obeyed what he said. Maybe that was why he was allowed to take up valuable space in a pricey restaurant without actually putting any money in the coffers by eating. She had thought he was being charming and self-deprecating when he had described himself as arrogant. Maybe he was just being truthful.

The coat came off.

Sergio’s breath caught in his throat. What had he been expecting? He didn’t know. He just knew that if she was out to see what she could get from him, then she had been inspired in her choice of dress, because it displayed every inch of her fabulous figure in loving detail. The tiny waist. The generous breasts. Shapely legs. But she wasn’t overly tall, and he liked tall. She wasn’t brunette, and he preferred brunettes. And she certainly wasn’t a career woman—unless you could call not having a steady job a career choice—and career women were the only women who interested him.

But she was doing terrific things to his libido.

He smiled a slow, curling smile as he inspected her lazily from head to toe and back again.

‘That’s rude!’ Hot and bothered, Susie hurriedly sat down and wiped clammy hands on the dress.

‘Come again?’

‘That’s rude…’

‘Don’t tell me you don’t like being looked at? If you didn’t you wouldn’t be wearing a red dress that leaves very little to the imagination.’

‘It was a mistake buy.’

She was mortified to feel dampness seeping through her underwear and the tingle of her nipples, which had reacted to that lingering, unhurried inspection as though they were being played with.

What was going on? she wondered in confusion. She never reacted to guys like this. She was comfortable around them. Always had been. Yes, she had had two boyfriends, but neither of them had had this sort of effect on her.

Mistake buy? Sergio nearly burst out laughing. ‘Mistake buys’ weren’t small, red and sexy. Small, red and sexy were designed to do one thing and one thing only, and that was to attract a man. To attract, in this case, him. It had worked. He was attracted.

And the way she could barely meet his eyes… She was the very picture of flustered, pink-cheeked innocence. It might be great acting, but the flustered pink-cheeked innocence was as sexy as the dress.

Hats off to her for a new and interesting route to getting through to him. Had she just turned up at the bar wearing the sexy red dress he might have looked but he wouldn’t have gone there. But her storyline… She had enticed him with more than the dress and the body…she had enticed him with her personality—and, frankly, he was in the mood to be enticed.

She was a refreshing change. He needed a break from intellectual women who had opinions and could become borderline tedious on the subject of their high-powered careers. What could be more of a break than a frisky little number who didn’t have a job?

‘I’d dispute that,’ he told her, with that same curling smile that made her short of breath. ‘In fact, from where I’m sitting, it looks like anything but a mistake buy.’

He was hardly aware of their glasses being refilled by a waiter, or of menus being placed in front of them. In fact he was hardly aware of ordering food.

‘So, does the bartending and the occasional picture-painting pay the rent? In London?’ he asked.

‘Just about. I can’t say I have much left over at the end of the month…’

Her parents would have loved nothing more than to install her in their grand apartment in Kensington, which was only used when they occasionally decided to descend on the city for the theatre or the opera, but she had always stuck to her guns and refused the offer.

Pride, however, did entail roughing it in a not particularly great part of London and having to put up with a good-natured but lazy landlord who didn’t see a problem with eccentric central heating and appliances that only worked when they felt like it.

‘And yet you’re here…?’

‘Sometimes you’ve just got to live a little.’ Susie blushed and looked away. ‘I should have done what I always wanted to do,’ she said, staring off into the distance. ‘I mean, have you ever found yourself sucked into following a career path that just wasn’t for you?’

She had been eighteen…with no interest in going to university…and the family consensus had been that a secretarial career would at least provide a steady income, with the possibility of branching out at a future date. The unspoken conclusion had been that she was just not academic enough for much else.

‘No.’

‘You mean you’ve always known what you wanted to do with your life? Where you wanted to go and how to get there?’

‘Circumstances have a cunning way of steering us down an inevitable road,’ Sergio murmured, a little surprised to be participating in this abstract conversation.

‘What does that mean?’

‘So you were “sucked into” becoming a secretary…?’

Susie duly noted his avoidance of her question—and yet he had sounded, just then, as though he had been speaking from experience…what experience?

‘It seemed to make sense at the time.’ And anything that made sense had seemed so important at the time—more important than standing her ground and pursuing a career in fine art.

‘But in retrospect it was the biggest mistake of your life, because things that are done because they make sense are not always the things one ends up enjoying…?’

‘That’s so true!’ Susie leaned forward. She laughed, delighted that he had caught on so quickly, had almost read her mind and expressed her thoughts in a handful of words. ‘You’re very insightful,’ she murmured shyly.

Sergio raised his eyebrows. Insightful? One adjective that had never before been applied to him.

‘I wouldn’t get carried away,’ he murmured drily. ‘If I were you I’d remember what I told you before. I’m arrogant…you’d be far better off bearing that in mind…’

CHAPTER TWO

NATURALLY SUSIE OFFERED to pay her half.

‘I insist,’ she told him firmly. ‘I dumped myself on you. The last thing I want is for you to find yourself having to buy dinner for me. And a very expensive dinner as well.’

‘I don’t do anything in life because I have to,’ Sergio informed her. ‘At any rate, I don’t pay when I come here.’

‘You don’t pay? What does that mean?’

‘I have an understanding here…’ So she knew he was rich? That wasn’t too difficult. He was well known—if not because he appeared so often in the financial pages, then because he appeared with equal regularity in the gossip columns of tabloids. Whether she knew what, precisely, he owned, he had no idea—and who cared?

He had already made his mind up.

Maybe he had made it up the second his libido had been galvanised into unexpected reaction.

She had come looking for fun and cash. She was heading in the right direction for fun…

And the cash? He was a generous lover, so who knew? If she was looking for something more significant…if she was in search of involvement on an emotional level…then of course she would be in for a rude awakening. But for the moment he liked the thought of taking her to his bed…removing that provocative little red number inch by gradual inch…and then exploring the body underneath also inch by gradual inch…

‘How can you have an “understanding” with a restaurant?’ Susie asked dubiously. ‘Unless… Are you related to the owner? Or does the owner owe you a favour…?’ She frowned and chewed her lip anxiously. ‘You’re not…not connected to the Mafia, are you?’

For a few seconds Sergio thought he had misheard her, but she was still staring at him, her almond-shaped brown eyes wary.

‘Have you actually just asked me whether I was connected to the Mafia…?’ Incredulity almost deprived him of the power of speech. No one, but no one, had ever dared go this far…

In fact no one, and certainly no woman, had ever dared challenge him in any way.

Maybe because they knew instinctively that he wasn’t into verbal challenges. Some women might think it a turn-on to needle him. The few who had thought so had learned pretty damn quickly that it wasn’t.

He was almost more incredulous that the woman appeared actually to be waiting for an answer!

‘Well?’ she asked, proving him right. ‘You haven’t answered.’

‘No! I am categorically not related to the Mafia!’

‘That’s good.’

‘Because…?’

‘No reason.’ Susie shrugged and realised with a little jolt of horror that she had actually begun to hope that she’d see him again. Begun to hope all sorts of things!

‘Come on…’

Sergio stood up and she instantly followed suit, glaringly conscious of what she was wearing now that she was no longer sitting down.

She slipped the black cape on and when she reached to tighten it around her he rested his hand briefly over hers.

That electric charge again—that hot, fierce current running through her that made her heart skip a beat and the breath catch painfully in her throat.

‘Come on…?’ she parroted weakly. ‘Come on…where?’

Sergio stood next to her, looking down at her upturned heart-shaped face. So many times she should have turned him off completely—starting with her crazy urge to confide and ending with her even crazier notion that he was some kind of gangster…

Yet was he turned off? No. He was a born predator, and he was a little relieved to find all those instincts alive and kicking, having been dormant for way too long for a man like him.

‘A number of choices here…’ Sergio murmured, enjoying the hectic colour in her cheeks and marvelling that she could marshal her expression into exactly the one she wanted to have on show.

‘Really?’ Susie squeaked, obediently falling in line with him as he headed out, oblivious to the covert stares following him and certainly oblivious to whoever was responsible for supplying him with free food—whoever he had his so-called ‘understanding’ with… Maybe the maître d’, who had not reappeared but who had been visible out of the corner of her eye, keeping a watchful nervous eye on their table.

Just in case, Susie thought, she outstayed her welcome and needed to be flung out urgently and without delay.

‘Option one…’ He pulled out his mobile, quickly texted, flipped it shut. On cue, a long, sleek black car appeared out of nowhere. He held open the passenger door for her and she hesitated—because he was, after all, a complete stranger.

Maybe not a member of the Mafia, but still a stranger! She wouldn’t have dreamt of getting in a car with anyone she’d met online dating, so why was she now contemplating it?

‘Option one is that we move on from here to somewhere else. I’m a member of an exclusive club in Knightsbridge. They do an excellent selection of after-dinner liqueurs.’

‘I can’t get into this car with you…’ She eyed the luxurious interior with unhealthy longing.

He had a chauffeur. There was someone at the wheel. It wouldn’t actually be just the two of them…

‘Option two is that we just head back to my place and cut through the middleman. A twenty-minute drive at this time of night. The views from my apartment would astound you.’

Susie gulped. ‘And—and option three…?’ she stammered, no closer to sliding into the back seat of the car and yet no nearer to fleeing the scene either.

‘The third option is that you scamper away and you never see me again.’

He leaned indolently against the open door, everything about his body language unhurried.

He wouldn’t try to stop her if she bolted for the nearest bus. In fact she could almost hear him chuckling under his breath if she chose option three—just as she could still hear him telling her that the things you did because they made sense weren’t always the things you ended up enjoying.

This dark, impossibly sexy, impossibly articulate, impossibly self-assured man was out of her league. She wasn’t the sort of sophisticated, self-confident academic like her sister, who could attract men like him. It just didn’t make any sense.

But neither had that fine art course she had wanted to do… The secretarial course had made sense, and a fat lot of good that had done her in the long run. She had still ended up digging her heels in and doing what she should have done in the first place—except she was now older as she started the climb up the career ladder.

She tightened her coat around her, her heart beating madly. It was cold out here—one of those freezing, sleety January evenings that put a depressing spin on everything. People swarmed around them, some turning to glance back over their shoulders.

‘We could talk…I guess…’

Sergio smiled. Had he doubted that she would take him up on his offer? Not really. He had sensed that charge between them, invisible but so tangible he could almost have reached out and clasped it in the palm of his hand.

‘We could—although I’ve often found that there are far more interesting things to do with a woman than talk. Now, are you going to get in?’

Susie hopped in, breathing in the smell of expensive leather and feeling the warmth of the car wrap around her. She shifted over to the window, still not entirely sure what had propelled her into doing something as extraordinary as climbing into a car with a guy she’d known for all of five minutes.

‘Club or my place?’

Sergio turned to her and all at once she felt the intimacy between them like a force.

His beautiful face was all shadows and dark, brooding angles. God, she could stare at this man and keep staring. The cute guys she had met in the past seemed like inept little boys in comparison. Actually, they probably were. This was a powerful alpha male, the leader of the pack, the king of the jungle, and a shiver of unbridled excitement rippled through her.

‘Well…’

She let that one syllable drag out and for Sergio that was answer in itself. He leaned forward and told his driver to head home, and then he relaxed back, sprawled against the car door and looked at her.

He liked this game she was playing. How many men had she approached in the past? he wondered. How many stories did she have up her sleeve? That hesitant, glorious air of innocence could go a long way…

‘So if you didn’t like secretarial work,’ he said obligingly, very happy to chat to her about the past she probably altered according to her audience, ‘why did you go in for it in the first place?’

‘What do you do?’ Susie asked curiously, as always reluctant to point out all her deficiencies—at least as compared to her gifted family members. Especially to this man who, for reasons unknown, she was driven to try and impress.

Sergio threw her an amused, vaguely disbelieving look and she stared back at him and laughed.

It was an infectious laugh. It was the laugh of someone who enjoyed laughing. His own lips twitched.

‘Share the joke?’ he drawled drily.

‘You think I know who you are, don’t you? I bet you still think I’m after whatever money you have —even though I’ve told you that I’m not.’

‘You surely must have heard of me?’ Sergio heard himself say.

Her laughter subsided into a grin. ‘Why?’

‘Because my name crops up regularly. I’m either making money or giving it away.’

‘What does that mean?’

The undercurrent threading through their conversation felt dangerous, heady and compelling. The way those deep, penetrating eyes roved over her made her feel hot and breathless, and she had never enjoyed a sensation more in her life.

‘It means I make money—and lots of it.’

‘Doing what?’

‘All sorts of things,’ Sergio said with a shrug. ‘I buy things, take things over, invest in things, build things… I own the restaurant, as a matter of fact. It’s one of five scattered across the country that specialise in superb food and an edgy atmosphere.’

‘You own that restaurant?’

Her mouth fell open and Sergio couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

‘Are you telling me you weren’t aware of that?’

‘Why should I be?’ She looked at him, bemused. ‘I honestly had no idea,’ she told him. ‘And if you really and truly believe that I only went there to try and get your attention because you’re rich, then you can ask your driver to stop and I’ll get out and find my own way back home.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

She didn’t answer. Instead she rapped on the glass partition separating them from his driver. He caught her wrist and held on to it until she reluctantly met his eyes.

‘You headed straight over to my table,’ he said grimly. ‘You sat down uninvited until you managed to wangle dinner, and now here you are, in my car, heading back to my place… What’s a billionaire supposed to think?’

Susie yanked her hand away, stung, because what he said might make sense on the surface but was so far from the truth that it was laughable.

Sergio noted the glimmer of tears glazing her eyes and for a few seconds had some doubts about the conclusions he had drawn. She had squeezed herself tightly against the car door and he had the impression that if she could have made herself disappear in a puff of smoke she would have.

‘Well?’ he persisted roughly. ‘What am I supposed to think?’

‘You’re supposed to believe what I’ve told you.’

He laughed humourlessly. ‘Women have an unfortunate habit of acting out of character the second they’re exposed to a man with a lot of money.’

‘Do they? I wouldn’t know. I want to get out. I want to go home. I should never have agreed to get in this car with you in the first place. You think I’ve only done it because I’m after your money and you don’t want to believe me when I tell you that you’re wrong. Well, how do I know that you’re an honourable guy? How do I know that you’re not going to take me back to your place and…and…?’

‘Don’t even think of going there!’

Sergio was genuinely outraged that she could believe the worst of him but he grudgingly recognised the irony of the situation. He wasn’t prepared to believe a word of what she was saying so why should she believe a word of what he was telling her? He clearly had money, but that didn’t mean he was…an honourable guy…

He vaguely wondered what she’d meant by that anyway.

‘I don’t need to force myself on women,’ he said flatly.

Susie could believe that. He had a point. ‘So if I told you that I wanted to get out—right here, right now…?’

‘I wouldn’t try and stop you.’

He raked impatient fingers through his dark hair and shot her a fulminating look from under his lashes. Had he ever had so much conversation with any woman before getting into bed with her? Sure, he might discuss the state of the world, what was happening in the news, politics… The women he dated always enjoyed displaying the length, breadth and width of their intellect…

But feelings…?

He met her stubborn stare and sighed. ‘Why were you trying to find a man through the internet? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s not safe?’

Susie relaxed. He had meant it when he had told her that he would drop her off if she asked. She had seen it in his eyes. And she believed him when he said that he had no need to force himself on a woman. She imagined his danger was in trying to escape women forcing themselves on him.

He might be suspicious and downright offensive, but he was up front. And so, so exciting.

‘Have you any idea how hard it is, finding a date in London? When you don’t do the clubbing scene and don’t have a fancy, high-powered job where there are loads of unattached eligible males?’

‘No.’

‘Hard. I mean, I know a lot of guys, but my friends tend to be…well…’ She frowned. ‘They’re creative types. A couple of graphic designers who freelance… One makes amazing designs for wallpapers…three work in publishing…’

‘And eligible men?’ Sergio asked, moving the conversation along, curious in spite of himself.

‘Lots of men—but none of them are what you might call “eligible”. To be honest, quite a few of the guys I know are gay…so when one of my friends suggested I see what was out there on the internet, I didn’t think it was such a bad idea. Besides…’

She talked a lot, but strangely he didn’t seem to mind. He wondered whether it was the lingering effect of the red dress. Or the novelty of someone who didn’t see it as her duty to show him how bright she was and how many degrees she had obtained to get where she had. Or the way her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in unruly curls.

‘Besides…?’ he inserted encouragingly.

‘I have a wedding coming up.’

Sergio could smell a convoluted story in the making. For the moment, however, his initial suspicions about her were on the back burner. He hadn’t discarded them completely, but he wasn’t going to allow them to dictate the outcome of this very, very unusual encounter.

‘I’m boring you, aren’t I?’

‘On the contrary. You’re taking me down all sorts of roads I’ve never travelled before.’

‘Am I?’ Susie wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered by that or offended. She hesitated, distracted by what he had said. ‘What sort of roads do you normally go down with…er…women…?’

Sergio spread his hands wide and shot her a rueful, amused smile that did all those wonderful tingly things to her body. ‘The women I date are almost exclusively career women…’

‘Oh. Right. I see.’ Disappointment bit into her because it made sense. He was rich and he was smart. Of course he would be attracted to smart and probably rich women. Like always attracted like, didn’t it? ‘Career women…’

‘Big jobs…daily decision-making that in some cases can affect the lives of the people around them…packed agendas and hectic schedules…’

Saying it aloud made him wonder what he saw in those types, but that was just a fleeting thought because he knew exactly what he saw in them—just as he knew exactly the sort of women he had programmed himself to avoid like the plague.

Dominique Duval.

It was a name that didn’t often spring to mind. He had ruthlessly and successfully eliminated it from conscious thought. But vocalising the sort of women he dated had thrown up the comparison and his lips thinned with instant distaste. The past might be buried deep but it was never truly forgotten, was it?

‘What’s the matter?’ Susie leaned forward, startled by his darkening expression and immediately jumping to the conclusion that she was somehow responsible for it. And then almost as quickly she got annoyed, because she hadn’t said anything that could remotely be construed as offensive.

When it came to being offensive he was the one winning the race!

‘Just thinking back to a very significant person in my life.’ Sergio’s voice was cold and hard. ‘A delightful woman who has ensured that when it comes to any sort of involvement with the opposite sex I always make sure to steer clear of types like her. Learning curves…’ He was smiling again, the tightness around his mouth gone although his eyes were still cool. ‘I like to pay attention to them…’

‘Me too.’

Susie didn’t know what had just happened there. What she did know was that she wasn’t going to go down Confidence Lane and start telling him all about her family and her learning curves.

She was already reaching the conclusion that the only reason he had even glanced in her direction was because of her novelty value. If he only dated clever career women, someone plonking herself at his table with a long-winded tale of online dating mishaps would have been a shock to the system.

So who was this woman who had shaped his responses to the opposite sex and determined the sort of women he chose to date? She assumed some past love affair. Maybe he had fallen in love with the wrong girl? The fact that he had taken it so badly—badly enough to change the way he looked at his relationships—was telling. He had fallen in love and got burned.

Her thoughts rambled on until she surfaced to hear him asking her about the wedding she had mentioned.

‘Wedding?’ She gave an airy laugh and flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘What wedding?’

‘The one you have coming up… You were about to launch into a tale of young love and confetti…’

‘Wow. You live here? Isn’t this the most expensive place to live on the planet?’ She craned forward, squinting into the darkness and staring up and up and up at the spire of glass rising into the clouds.

As a diversion from a conversation she no longer wanted to have, it worked.

The apartment her parents owned was nice. No, it was better than nice. It was in a great location, and had been refurbished to a high standard, but this was the stuff of dreams—a place ordinary mortals never got to see.

She had genuinely forgotten the ‘wedding on the horizon’ conversation.

‘Impressed?’ Sergio was exiting the car and swinging round to open the passenger door for her, but she had already hopped out and was staring.

‘Very impressed,’ she confessed.

That came as no big surprise to Sergio. He imagined her place as somewhere small and damp and in poor condition, languishing in a fairly unsavoury location. Possibly directly under a flight path.

It had begun to rain—a fine, dreary drizzle. It was after ten on a dark, wintry night but there was the alluring promise of excitement within the walls of his massive apartment and he felt like a randy teenager at the conclusion of a first date with the hottest girl in school.

They were whooshed up to his apartment in a glass elevator and finally, as he pushed open the door to his apartment, she managed to find her voice, which had got lost somewhere between the vast foyer and the fifteenth floor.

‘This is…incredible—but I guess you know that already…’ She laughed nervously and stared around her at a marvel of modernism. Cool abstract paintings, most of which she recognised, were hung strategically on the walls and there was an awful lot of pale marble everywhere.

She was in his apartment…

There was nothing to be nervous about. She repeated that mantra to herself as he dutifully made noises about the layout of the apartment.

So many rooms… And whilst he was obviously accustomed to the artwork, to the vast scale of everything, the avant-garde kitchen where the marble gave way to wood, the sitting area which was dominated by creams and whites… Well, she was more and more impressed with every passing step.

She peppered him with questions. Asked him how long he had lived there, if he knew his neighbours—which for some reason he found very funny—wondered aloud what would happen if he spilled red wine over the white leather sofa…

She chattered ceaselessly—because whether or not she should be nervous, she was.

With all her online dates—three of them, because number four had bitten the dust before they could actually meet—she had ultimately been in control. Public places, superficial conversation, awkward goodbyes…

She had not, even in passing, been tempted to go anywhere with them except to the door, where they’d parted company in different directions.

And both her relationships had started life in the friendship arena and then progressed from friendship through to curiosity and into a relationship before morphing back into friendship.

This…was different.

‘Perhaps some coffee…?’ she said.

So she was looking for a relationship? Why hide from that? He wasn’t. And definitely not with someone like her. She wasn’t a career woman who could talk about business stuff. That were the sort of women he dated, went out with, would consider a candidate for a relationship. He had said so himself. She was a one-off.

And he was a one-off for her as well. He was…this was…lust. No more, no less. Heck, she was aware of him with every fibre of her being—could feel his presence like a forbidden thrill.

So they were even. Weren’t they?

Still…a cup of coffee might settle her nerves. She pictured them heading up to that split galleried landing straight to his bedroom…where he would turn to her, expecting her to launch herself into abandoned sex when in fact she might have had two boyfriends but she was woefully short on the sort of experience she figured he would be used to.

‘You want…coffee…? At this hour?’ Sergio leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at her evenly.

‘Maybe a nightcap…’ A strong dose of hard liquor would definitely steady her nerves. Or else knock her out completely. Both options were preferable to the frantic flutter in her stomach.

‘Sit down,’ Sergio told her gently.

He propelled her towards one of the black leather chairs at the kitchen table and then perched on the side of the table, which was a beaten metal affair the likes of which she had never seen in her life before. She stared at it fixedly and tried not to let her eyes wander to the strain of his trousers pulling taut across a muscular thigh.

‘So you want either a cup of coffee or a nightcap?’ he mused, tilting her face upwards so that she could look at him.

What was he to think? He didn’t know. They were in his apartment and she should be coming on to him. That was how the game was played. Was this some cunning ploy to hold his interest? He didn’t want to let go of his natural instinct to suspect the unexpected, but some other natural instinct inside him—one that had never surfaced before—was pushing him in a different direction.

‘Either or…’ Susie blinked and licked her lips.

‘Do you usually have nightcaps?’

‘Not usually, no…’

‘Only when you go on dates?’

‘I…I don’t really do a lot of dating, as it happens.’

‘Just random ones with strange men you meet on the internet?’

‘I would never have dreamt of having any sort of nightcap with any of those guys I arranged to meet,’ she told him truthfully. ‘They were pretty awful. Well, not awful. Just…boring and average…’

‘Is there a hidden compliment in there somewhere for me?’

‘You really are arrogant!’ But a little smile hovered on her lips and she relaxed fractionally.

‘And you’re very sexy,’ Sergio told her bluntly. ‘So why the hell do you think that the only way to meet a man is on the internet?’

‘You think I’m sexy?’

‘I think you’re sexy. Beyond that, I don’t know what to think—and, take it from me, that’s a first.’ He stood up and sauntered over to a complicated coffee maker. ‘Now, I’m going to make you a cup of coffee and then I’m going to get my driver to take you back to your place.’

‘No!’

She would never see him again. Thrown into a state of confusion by the tumult of emotion that accompanied that thought, Susie stared at him, dry-mouthed.

Sergio ignored her outburst. He wasn’t up for this—however intriguing it might be and however much it rescued him from his emotional torpor. This was a complication, and he could do without complications.

When it came to women, he liked to know what he was dealing with. He had no idea what he was dealing with here. Gold-digger? A sexy little number who wanted to press all his buttons and was doing so via a roundabout route? Or an up front and honest young girl who genuinely had no idea of her own sex appeal? And how up front and honest could she really be if she was out there, trawling the internet, advertising herself on the open market?

‘Look…’ Coffee made, Sergio sat next to her at the kitchen table. ‘Somehow I found myself in your company tonight. Not what I had planned on. In fact I had planned on working, having something to eat and coming back here on my own.’

His keen eyes noted the slight tremble of her hands as she cradled the mug between them. If this was acting, then she should be up for an award.

‘That said, I was more than happy with the change of plan. I have no idea who you really are, or what you really want from me, but like I said…you’re sexy. And I’ve been celibate for two months, which is two months too long for me. But I’m not interested in going round the houses to get there. Now, drink up and I’ll see you to the front door.’

‘What do you mean that you have no idea who I am or what I want from you…?’

Sergio gave a sigh of pure frustration. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much with a woman before sex.’

Susie blushed and hurriedly sipped her coffee, then cleared her throat. ‘You mean you just beckon a woman across, lead her to the nearest bed and…and…?’

‘Oh, we talk…’ Sergio laughed softly, enjoying the arousal that was making itself felt all over again, despite the fact that the traffic lights had turned red and he knew it was time to stop. ‘High-powered career women generally have a great deal to say. It’s all very civilised. We discuss the state of the world, and once that foreplay’s done we head to bed.’

‘Oh.’

And tonight for a while he had been caught up in the novelty of someone who didn’t have a great deal to say on the state of the world, but he wasn’t so caught up that he was going to wade through her sudden attack of nerves and hold her hand because she was suddenly feeling panicky.

He was a sophisticated man who liked sophisticated ladies but he had been willing to step out of the box for a brief session with her.

‘I’d better be on my way, then.’ She stood up, not looking at him. ‘And I’m sorry. You know… I guess it’s not really on… Well, it’s really not on to lead a guy on. Which I wasn’t doing. Actually. Because when I agreed to come here with you I thought… Well, I guess it’s just not like me to have a one-night stand.’ She frowned. ‘In fact I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life before and I’ve never been tempted to. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was just…walking in there and seeing Colonel Mustard at the bar… I wouldn’t have approached you otherwise, you know…’

Sergio raised one hand to halt the stream of introspective conversation.

‘I’m getting the picture,’ he said wryly.

He ushered her out of the kitchen. He was doing the right thing. He would deal with his unwanted arousal later. In the shower. Turned to cold. That should do the trick.

‘Just out of interest,’ he drawled, once they were in the hall. ‘if you’re not the kind of girl who goes in for exciting, racy one-night stands, why the hell did you agree to this in the first place?’

He leaned against the wall and watched as she took her time fumbling with the black coat, belting it around her waist before raising her eyes to meet his.

‘I don’t know,’ Susie admitted. ‘I…I fancied you…’ She went bright red and her eyes skittered away.

And that, Sergio thought, was how a guy could get insanely turned on. She could barely meet his eyes. She sounded as though the admission had been dragged out of her.

What kind of a guy would he be if he let her go away with nothing?

He moved forward, cupped his big hand behind the nape of her neck and saw her eyes widen with a mixture of surprise and hot excitement.

In that split instant he knew that he could have her if he wanted. He had never wanted anything so much in his life before, but was he going to have her? No. He would stick to what he knew. Safer that way. A controlled life was a life with no nasty surprises.

His mouth hovered tantalisingly close to hers and she whimpered and linked her hands around his waist. She was so wet! She eased the ache by widening her stance a little, when all she wanted was for him to put his hand there and rub away the discomfort, give her some release.

Sergio breathed in her scent, light and floral and clean.

With a groan, he lowered his head and forgot…everything. Her lips parted readily…her tongue flicked to meet his. He was barely aware of propelling her backwards, so that she was pressed against the wall and he was pressed against her. He moved against her, wanting nothing more than to rip off the black cape and hoist up the flimsy nothing of a dress. He wanted to yank her panties down and just take her…right here in the hallway…up against the wall…with her legs wrapped around him…

It took a few dazed seconds for her eyes to flutter open as he tore himself away and stood back.

‘Why have you stopped?’ Her nerves had gone, banished under the impact of that kiss. She hated the cooling distance he was putting between them and the fact that the bedroom beyond that short flight of stairs was no longer too scarily close for comfort.

‘It’s no good.’ Hot blood was still pumping thick and hard in his veins. ‘You’re not my type.’

He should never have made a move on her—never invited her back here. But he was just so damned accustomed to having exactly what he wanted, to taking exactly what he wanted.

He clenched his jaw as he saw her hurt expression and told himself that this was just the sort of episode that would make her stronger. Get her off the internet for a start.

‘You’re either a gold-digger,’ he said coolly, ‘or a naive kid—and I’m not interested in either.’

‘I’m not experienced enough for you…or clever enough…’

‘Don’t put words into my mouth. I’m telling it like it is—and here’s something else… If I were you I’d think twice about trying to find your soul mate on the internet. It’s a dangerous place out there…’

But not as dangerous as the inside of an exclusive restaurant in the city…

Susie knew that she shouldn’t care. Okay, so she might go away with her pride slightly dented, but he had probably done the right thing.

She drew herself up and returned his cool look with an equally cool one of her own. ‘Thanks for the advice. And if you’re glad you didn’t end up in bed with me because I’m not your type, then I’m just as glad that I didn’t end up in bed with you because you’re not my type.’

She forced herself to smile…the casual, dismissive smile of one adult to another.

‘And I’m not as naive as you think I am,’ she lied, tossing her head. ‘In fact I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and of having a one-night stand, if I ever want one!’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Car’s outside, Susie…it’s been a…a highly unusual encounter…’

God, just his voice was enough to send shivers racing up and down her spine.

She held out her hand in response and pinned a smile on her face as he reached to pull open the front door. ‘Thanks for dinner. And I hope you find the businesswoman of your dreams. I’ll keep looking for the fun guy of my dreams…’

And she dashed out of the open door, back down in that glass lift and slap-bang outside into his chauffeur driven car. She dived in, slamming the door after her and making sure she didn’t glance back as she was driven away.

CHAPTER THREE

SERGIO HAD SEEN the curiosity in the florist’s eyes when he had placed his order. One hundred roses in five different colours. He could almost see the question taking shape at the back of her mind… Who’s the lucky girl?

Stanley, his driver, was a lot more forthcoming than the florist.

‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

Sergio caught his driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and thought about ignoring the question.

The roses had been carefully placed in the boot, all neatly wrapped in cellophane with straw bows, their cut stems nestling in little bags of water.

‘The “lucky girl” is the one you dropped home the week before last—not that it’s any of your business, Stanley. In case you’ve forgotten the contents of your How to Be a Good Chauffeur manual, it’s not your place to ask questions about matters that don’t concern you.’

‘Ah. You must be keen. The flowers usually only get pulled out at the end of one of your little flings, sir, and even so…never roses…and never that many!’

‘Just drive, Stanley.’

‘Nice little thing, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘I’m about to make an important call, and as a matter of fact I do mind.’

‘You’ll need to be careful with that one, sir.’

Sergio gave up. He had employed Stanley for over ten years—rescued him from an inner city project that aimed to rehabilitate petty criminals and chronically out of work men back into the community by training them up in stable jobs.

It was one of the many charities sponsored by Sergio’s vast conglomerate of companies.

Some of the lads went into manual labour. Working in garden centres, building sites, in restaurants… Stanley, aged twenty-eight now, once an expert car thief, had come to work for him, and their relationship had prospered against all odds.

Stanley was irreverent, outspoken, unimpressed by Sergio’s trappings of wealth, and eternally grateful to have been rescued from a life of bouncing in and out of prison. He was a good lad gone bad, thanks to circumstances, and had been waiting for someone just like Sergio to get him back on the right track.

Sergio secretly enjoyed his driver’s lack of due respect. He was loyal, would have lain down in front of a train for Sergio, and he knew cars like the back of his hand.

‘I expect you’re about to tell me why…?’

‘Only if you want me to, sir. Wouldn’t want to overstep my brief.’

‘Spit it out, Stanley, and then focus on the road. I don’t want to end up in a ditch because you’re busy imparting your pearls of wisdom and not paying attention to your driving. Don’t forget that your terms of employment are to drive me and not talk incessantly.’

It was not yet five in the evening, but already dark, with a fine persistent drizzle that made the pavements look slick and shiny, as though they had been covered with a fine layer of oil.

‘She’s not like the other women you go out with, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. This one’s…different… Don’t ask me why—just a feeling I got when I was dropping her back…’

Sergio wondered whether that feeling would be diluted if Stanley knew the circumstances surrounding their meeting—if he knew that the nice little thing had shown up at his restaurant dressed to kill in a tight red dress on a supposedly mystery date with a mystery guy which may or may not have been the real reason for being there in the first place.

‘But I’ll leave you to get on with that important phone call now, sir. Wouldn’t want you kicking me out because I’m not doing my job to Your Highness’s satisfaction.’

He began to hum under his breath, leaving Sergio to get on with his thoughts.

He was being driven to Susie’s house on a mission that included a hundred roses of varying colours and he didn’t really know why—except that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. He’d met the woman once, under dubious circumstances, was not convinced that she wasn’t a gold-digger, had not even slept with her, and yet…

Under normal circumstances women did not intrude into his working life. They didn’t show up at his office, they didn’t phone him on his office line, and they never interfered with his thought processes when they weren’t physically around. When he was with a woman he enjoyed her with every fibre of his being. When she wasn’t around she was forgotten. It was just the way he was.

Unfortunately he had spent so much time thinking about Susie that he hadn’t been able to focus. He had found himself drifting off twice during meetings, staring at his computer without really seeing the lines and columns in front of him, having to get his secretary to repeat herself on several occasions because his mind had wandered off.

He had no idea why this particular encounter had left him so distracted. It wasn’t as though she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, nor the smartest. Her intentions were open to debate, and she had, frankly, led him up the garden path by giving off all the right signals about wanting to climb into bed with him and then, when his libido was through the roof, backing away and shooting out of his apartment like a bat out of hell.

So here he was. He didn’t know what he intended to say when he showed up on her doorstep. He didn’t even know if he would find her at home. Maybe she had already dry-cleaned the little red dress and was wearing it at some other rich man’s hangout, on the hunt for another billionaire—someone a little less daunting.

He didn’t care for the thought, and rather than spend the trip brooding consoled himself with the very pleasing prospect that if she was at home he would have some fun plumbing the depths of that attraction she had talked about instead of being noble and resisting what was on offer.

He’d never done that before and he’d been a fool to do it with her.

That was probably why he had found himself at the local florist and now here, in the back seat of his car. He was allergic to self-denial.

‘We’re here, sir.’ Stanley killed the engine and met Sergio’s eyes.

‘She lives here?’

Sergio peered through the drizzle to a grim little selection of shops…a newsagent, a fish and chip takeaway, a few more that were already closed for the night and barricaded so securely that it made you wonder what sort of people lived in the neighbourhood.

‘Flat above the shops, sir.’

Even grimmer. ‘Should be fun, transporting the roses up to her flat,’ he mused aloud. ‘Who lives in a place like this, Stanley?’

‘Several of my relatives, sir—and those would be the lucky ones.’

Sergio grunted. ‘Do you know her flat number, or do we have to ring all the bells and hope for the best?’

‘Flat number nine, sir. Saw her up to her front door myself.’

Susie was barely aware of her doorbell ringing until she turned down the television. The doorbell, like everything else in the tiny flat, was eccentric—sometimes working, sometimes not, and very often ringing so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear it.

It was Friday evening and she had declined all company. Definitely no more online dating. The daring red number had been cleaned and was hanging at the back of the wardrobe as a reminder of her mistake.

Sergio Burzi.

She had looked him up on the internet—not to read what was said about him, because she wasn’t that interested, but to gaze at the pictures of him…which didn’t do him justice at all.

It amazed her that one random meeting with a perfect stranger had managed to throw her whole life out of kilter.

She daydreamed. She changed reality so that she had ended up spending the night with him. She wondered what it might have been like. She projected herself into a future that they would never have and fantasised about having a relationship with him—a proper relationship.

Then she remembered what he had said about the women he dated, what he had told her about the sort of women he was drawn to. Women like her sister, Alex. Clever, high-powered women, who knew what they wanted out of life the very second they emerged from the womb.

Another feeble ring from the doorbell and she padded across to the front door. Ten seconds was all it took. Her flat was so small that she could practically flick on the television in the poky sitting room while frying an egg in the kitchen.

She thought of Sergio’s apartment. So vast…so modern…a stunning space where everything worked and did what it was supposed to do. The lights didn’t flicker ominously, the fridge didn’t stage protests against being too well stocked, the sofas didn’t sag in the middle…and the bed… She could only think that his bed would be ten times the size of hers and wouldn’t creak every time he moved.

Susie knew that she had to snap out of her torpor because it wouldn’t get her anywhere. Her mother had telephoned the very day after her dinner with Sergio and had peppered her with questions about the new restaurant. She had been irritated when Susie had responded in monosyllables and made a great effort to try and change the conversation, having put Louise Sadler straight and told her that there had been no nice man sharing the meal with her.

Then her mother had launched into a speech about Clarissa’s wedding—about how delighted everyone was that she was getting married, that it wouldn’t be long before a grandchild was on the way for her mother…Louise Sadler’s sister.

Susie’s mother had a long-running, just below the surface competitive edge with her aunt, Kate. Two years separated them, and rumour had it that the Thornton sisters had been competing from the second her mother—the younger of the two—had uttered her first words.

Louise had married first, but Kate had had a child first. Louise had had a job with more status, but Kate’s had earned her more money.

And now Kate’s daughter Clarissa was hopping up the aisle—the first in the family to do so.

Susie shuddered to think of her mother’s reaction if Clarissa got pregnant and had a baby nine months after the wedding ring had been put on her finger.

It was bad enough that Alex was so involved in her fabulously important job as a neurosurgeon that there was no sign of any boyfriend on the horizon. At least in the case of her sister Louise had the ‘fabulous job’ to fall back on—about which she never stopped boasting.

But Susie…

No fabulous job and no boyfriend either. In fact not even any friends who were boys who could give her mother anything to brag about.

Was it any wonder that she had toyed with the idea of finding Mr Perfect via the internet? Was it any wonder that she had fallen for all those cosy pictures of loving couples and actually believed that rubbish about perfect endings?

Fighting down another wave of self-pity, she pulled open the door—to a barrage of flowers. Bunches and bunches and bunches of roses—so many roses that it had taken two people to cart them up to her flat, although she couldn’t see who they were because they were shielded by the flowers.

‘Sorry, you’ve got the wrong place.’

She moved to shut the door. Somewhere in the building some lucky girl was being bombarded with flowers, and she didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that the lucky girl wasn’t her.

‘I would have gone more easy on the quantity if I had known that your flat was so small…’

Susie’s mouth fell open. Her heart started beating so hard that she felt giddy. The palms of her hands began to perspire. Her whole body began to perspire.

She watched as Sergio emerged from the garden centre on her doorstep.

He was as sexy as she remembered. As tall, as dark, as striking. Dark jeans clung to his lean hips and he was wearing a striped rugby jumper and loafers. It was cold outside, and she wondered how he could find a trench coat adequate cover. It was hooked over his shoulder with one finger.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘That will be all, Stanley.’ He addressed the man next to him without taking his eyes from Susie’s face.

‘Why are you here?’ she repeated in a dazed voice, barely aware of so many flowers being put inside her flat that she probably wouldn’t be able to turn a full circle when she shut the door.

But through the daze pleasure was zinging through her—because this was one of her fantasies…the one that involved him seeking her out.

Excitement gripped her, twisting her insides and turning her legs to jelly. He was giving orders to Stanley, the really great guy who had driven her back to her flat and seen her up to her front door the previous week, in true gentleman style.

And then there were just the two of them, staring at one another, until she was knocked for six by his slow, curling smile.

He’d done the right thing.

Sergio knew that the very second the door was pulled open and he saw her again. No red dress this time. No dress at all. Baggy jogging bottoms and a grey jumper and fluffy bright pink bedroom slippers.

The sex kitten was nowhere in evidence. In her place was a small, cute, freckle-faced, vanilla-haired girl who was gaping at him as though he had materialised out of nowhere.

And she was even sexier than he remembered.

‘Are you going to ask me in?’ He lounged against the door frame and continued to look at her.

‘How did you find me? No, I know. Stanley knows where I live. I’m surprised he remembered the route.’

‘He’s talented when it comes to remembering places.’

‘And maybe you’d like to tell me what the heck you’re doing here?’

For a few seconds Sergio was completely thrown by that question. Automatic entry had been his expectation. Explanations to follow—not that he had really anticipated many of those. He had shown up, hadn’t he? This was the first time he had ever done anything like this before, and it hadn’t crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be delighted with the gesture.

‘Come again?’

‘The last time I saw you, you told me that I was either a gold-digger or a simpleton and you weren’t interested in having anything to do with me.’

‘I don’t believe I used the word simpleton.’

‘As good as,’ Susie retorted, her body as stiff as a plank of wood. She might have daydreamed about this, but now that he was here she couldn’t just shove aside the fact that he had turned her away. ‘I’m not your type…remember…?’

‘I’ve come bearing flowers,’ Sergio said incredulously, raking his fingers through his hair and wondering how such a generous gesture could garner a cross-examination.

‘That still doesn’t excuse what you said to me.’

But she yearned to fling open the door and let him in. Her whole body throbbed, remembering the way his lips had felt against hers, wanting more…much more.

‘We can talk about this inside. Let me in. Please, Susie?’

Susie hesitated and then grudgingly stepped aside so that he could enter. As soon as he entered he seemed to fill the entire place. She busied herself gathering the flowers. She had two vases, into which she crammed as many as she could, and then she rested the remainder by the window to be sorted out later.

For the moment…

She retreated to the sofa and sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

‘I admit I questioned your motives,’ Sergio said heavily. He perched uncomfortably on the far end of the sofa. ‘Can you blame me?’

‘And what’s made you change your mind.’

Sergio wasn’t sure he actually had changed his mind, but he figured that complete honesty in this instance would be a mistake. The main thing was that she had managed to get to him in a way other women hadn’t, for reasons he couldn’t define, and if indeed she did turn out to be a gold-digger then she wouldn’t get very far—especially as he knew what to look out for.

‘I turned you away because…’ He stood up and restlessly prowled through the room, subliminally clocking the fact that in between the dusty furnishings and tired decor there were one or two items of spectacular worth.

What did that say? What would she say if he pointed them out to her? How was it that she couldn’t afford somewhere better to live when hanging on the wall was a tiny but extremely valuable abstract painting by an up-and-coming artist? And nestled amongst the bric-a-brac on the mantelpiece was what appeared to be an original Tiffany lamp?

His jaw tightened. Even recognising those anomalies, he still found that he was driven to stay put.

‘Because…’ he resumed his seat on the sagging sofa ‘…if you’re a gold-digger then nothing’s going to come of your efforts, and if you’re just hopelessly naive then I was doing you a favour, because you’ll end up getting hurt by me.’

Susie frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I don’t do long-term relationships.’

‘And what makes you think that I do? No, I take that back… What makes you think that I would cast you in the role of someone I want to have a long-term relationship with?’

‘Women have a habit of becoming over-involved…’

‘You’re…an attractive man,’ she said carefully, ‘but there’s no chance that I would ever become “over-involved” with someone like you…’

‘Someone like me?’

‘I’m a creative person…’

She thought of her parents’ response to the creative types she had introduced to them in the past. Perhaps some of her friends had been a little too creative.

‘It’s not as though I would necessarily want to get involved with someone exactly like me…but I would want to get involved with someone funny, thoughtful, considerate, kind, sensitive… A guy like that would never accuse me of being a gold-digger, and he would never tell me that I’m so naive that I can’t take care of myself—and he would definitely never be so downright arrogant as to assume that I would fall head over heels in love with him, given half a chance! I mean…who do you think you are, anyway…?’

Sergio was frankly lost for words. He wondered whether he should mention that there wasn’t another woman on the planet who would react to his appearance at her front door, carrying half a shop’s worth of expensive roses, by digging her heels in and giving him a furious lecture on all his failings.

‘I came here because I felt there was unfinished business between us,’ was all he could find to say.

Susie raised her eyebrows.

‘Didn’t you?’ he asked softly. ‘Feel like there was unfinished business between us?’

She hesitated.

Was that what she had been feeling?

Torn between wanting to assert her independence and show him that he couldn’t just turn up at her door with a bunch of flowers and expect her to swoon and just give in to whatever it was that had taken her over like a virus, she was stuck for words.

‘Well?’ Sergio inserted smoothly, firing on all cylinders and interpreting her hesitation correctly for what it was. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you…’

He didn’t make a move towards her, but he seemed able to sense every little thought running through her head with his finely tuned antennae. She had an expressive face. So much of him was tempted to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe that she was as straightforward as she claimed to be, and yet…

Her appearance at the restaurant, the startling red dress, the ease with which she had accompanied him back to his place despite protesting that she wasn’t that sort of girl…those random hugely expensive trinkets dotted around her flat…

‘I’m not your type…’ She looked at him narrowly, licked her lips. He was…formidable—lounging back there on her sofa in all his dark, dangerous, sexy glory.

‘I’m willing to break the mould…’

But she didn’t go in for short-lived affairs—never had. She might have broken up with her last boyfriend but it had been a relationship born from optimism that it would stay the course. Quite different from indulging in something that didn’t stand a chance…

To even think about…anything at all with the man now looking at her with those midnight-blue eyes would be downright reckless.

‘You told me that I wasn’t your type either,’ he reminded her in the same soft, speculative voice that felt like a caress. ‘Maybe it’s just a case of opposites attracting…’

He’d never had to work so hard with any woman before, and he wondered whether it was the irresistible lure of a challenge.

‘You’re not my type.’

‘So why the hesitation? We can both go into this with our eyes wide open and enjoy one another or I can walk out through that door—and I promise you that there won’t be a next time as far as I am concerned. This is the most I’ve ever had to do when it comes to chasing a woman. I’ve exhausted my interest in active pursuit.’

‘You make it sound so…so cold…so businesslike…’

‘I could wrap it up in pretty paper if you’d prefer,’ Sergio said drily. ‘But would that change anything? We’re attracted to one another. I can feel it between us like something alive… And if you come a bit closer and touch me you’ll certainly feel just how attracted to you I am and just how much I want to make love to you right now…’

Her heart skipped a beat. She remained where she was. He was right. There was a spark of electricity between them that crackled and there was no point denying that. And so what if he was…practical about whatever this was…? So what if he was blunt when it came to doing something about it?

The romantic in her might want to hear all the flowery stuff that came at the start of a relationship—but that flowery stuff didn’t amount to very much most of the time, did it? He was giving her his own unvarnished view of what they had.

Mutual, physical attraction—take it or leave it.

‘Are you so…so cold and detached with other women?’ she asked. Or was he like this only with her because he’d known from the get-go that she wasn’t the sort of woman who would ever be able to hold his interest for very long?

‘You talk a lot…’

But he grinned and a little more of her melted. He had the most amazing grin. It altered the harsh contours of his beautiful face and made him seem suddenly, wildly accessible and even more mind-blowingly sexy. Did he have a turn-on switch for that smile? Was he even aware of how powerful it was?

She blushed, chin resting on her knees, her brown eyes unwavering.

‘Okay!’ Sergio flung his arms wide in a gesture that was a mixture of frustration and amused resignation. ‘So I’m realistic in my approach to relationships? I never make promises I’m in danger of not keeping. I don’t encourage slumber parties. At this stage in my life I’m not interested in playing for keeps…’

‘And you’re always on the lookout for anyone who wants to get too close just because you’re rich…?’

‘That’s right.’ His expression cooled.

‘Because you’ve had a bad experience?’ Susie mused.

‘You could say that,’ he drawled, relaxing. ‘And now is the question-and-answer session over?’

Susie didn’t answer. She was staring into space. He’d been hurt—badly hurt—by someone he’d trusted who had turned out to be after his money. She wondered what this mysterious woman looked like, had been like… It didn’t matter in the big picture, because she wasn’t going to get involved with him, but she was curious nevertheless.

Had he been madly in love with her?

Her stomach gave a little flip, because she couldn’t imagine him being madly in love with anyone. Even after only her brief contact with him he struck her as a man in total control of every aspect of his life.

What woman had had the power to bring this big, powerful man to his knees? She must have been quite something. Hence his learning curve…

‘Stop trying to work me out.’

‘Huh?’ Susie blinked and focused on him.

‘You’re trying to piece me together,’ Sergio said wryly. ‘Don’t. We can enjoy one another without too much in-depth analysis. Come and sit closer to me. It’s driving me crazy, seeing you and not being able to touch.’

Susie stood up, flexed her muscles, which had stiffened. and glanced at the roses taking up half her flat.

‘You’re going to have to take most of these back to your apartment,’ she said, buying time—because there was still a stubborn part of her that didn’t want to fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers. She felt like someone with one foot hanging off the edge of a cliff, even though she didn’t know why because, as he’d said, mutual lust didn’t involve the depth charge of a proper relationship…

This was going to be an adventure that would take her right out of her comfort zone.

She had tried the online dating in search of a soul mate and had found three losers and a would-be loser. She had been out with guys who had been the last word in fun, who had been laid-back and full of creative spark, and she had only been tempted to get close to one of them—and that one had ended up being just a little too much fun for her liking.

Sergio Burzi occupied a place of his own. He had laid his cards on the table. He wanted sex and nothing more. She wasn’t even really sure what he thought of her. Did he still think that she was after what he could give her?

It sounded so weirdly clinical—even though sex was the least clinical thing on the face of the earth.

She didn’t do clinical—not when it came to emotions—but…

What he aroused in her was so overwhelming. She just had to look at his cool, handsome face, just had to hear the deep timbre of his voice, and all her reservations flew out of her head.

She felt his eyes follow her as she strolled towards the window and then turned to look at him.

‘When you do, I’ll help you put them in vases. Or something…’

Sergio relaxed. He hadn’t even known how much he wanted this. ‘It’ll have to be the something…my apartment lacks vases. It’s the first time I will have had flowers returned to me…’

But there was a first time for everything.

Admittedly he had never factored that into his life before, but he was willing to go along for the ride…until, of course, the ride became boring and it was time to get off…

CHAPTER FOUR

BUT RIGHT NOW…

He shut out the nagging little things that didn’t add up. Who cared? She wasn’t being interviewed for the job of being his life partner. This was about lust. This was about sex. He knew from experience that the physical never lasted, however good it was. Sooner rather than later tedium began to set in, and no amount of intellectual sparring could stanch the tide once it had begun.

The advantage of going out with high-powered career women was that they had less potential to become clingy. They had jobs, careers…there wasn’t any danger of them becoming dependent, needy, demanding.

He frowned, distracted by his train of thought.

‘Penny for them?’ Susie said lightly.

‘Come again?’

‘You’re frowning.’ She was drawn to sit right next to him, nestle into him, and she fought off the weakness. He would be very used to getting what he wanted from a woman. So even if this was all about physical attraction surely they could spend a little time talking.

‘It happens occasionally.’ Sergio focused on her with lazy intensity.

‘Why are you frowning? You must have everything you could possibly want in life. Although…’ she chewed her lip thoughtfully ‘…it’s not all about money and possessions, is it? I mean, you have an apartment that most people would kill for, but there’s more to life than a fancy apartment and a fast car…’

‘Are you about to launch into homilies about money not being the be-all and end-all?’

‘You’re so cynical.’

‘I prefer to call it realistic.’ He patted the space next to him and she shuffled along the sofa so that she was sitting a bit closer, with her legs crossed.

Sergio suppressed a sigh of frustration. Why had he thought that this might be a straightforward affair? Two adults attracted to one another who could enjoy one other in a fleeting, no-strings-attached situation? Had he really been stupid enough to imagine that some flowers would seamlessly pave the way?

‘I’ve never been that convinced about the advantages of being realistic,’ Susie said pensively. ‘I mean, I think optimism is much more important.’

Sergio detected the sound of warning bells ringing. ‘Which is precisely why I’m not your type,’ he inserted smoothly.

‘I wish you would stop reminding me of that. It just makes it hard for me to think about doing something that’s not going to last. I’m not an idiot. I know relationships end all the time. But I never thought I’d be the kind of person who gets involved with someone when I know it’s not going anywhere. I never thought I’d waste my time like that.’

‘That’s because this is probably the first time in your life that you’ve fallen prey to that little thing called desire.’ He reached out and lazily stroked her wrist. ‘The red dress was more obvious, but this shapeless outfit of yours is doing all sorts of interesting things to my system… Are you wearing a bra? No, I don’t think you are… Shuffle a bit closer and I can find out one way or the other. Of course if you are wearing a bra then it’s going to have to come off, because I want to feel your breasts in my hands…’

Susie’s breathing quickened. How was she supposed to think when he was saying stuff like that? And was he right? Was she feeling like this, behaving like this, because he turned her on as no one ever had in her life before?

‘I…I…I’ve had a boyfriend,’ she said weakly, clinging to the conversation even though talking was getting difficult when he was looking at her like that, his eyes all brooding and sexy and intense. ‘I know what…physical attraction is all about…’

‘Do you?’ He held the bottom of her jumper between his fingers and gave a gentle tug, which was enough to make her eyelids flutter and her breathing hitch in her throat even more.

No! He was right—she didn’t know a thing about desire…at least not desire like this, which was eating her up, devouring her, making her want to pass out from its intensity…

‘I don’t believe you. I can feel you throbbing for me. You’re hot and you’re wet and you don’t know how much longer you can sit there with your legs crossed, pretending to hold a normal conversation.’

‘You don’t know everything.’

‘When it comes to sex you’d be shocked at how much I know.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear that.’

‘You want me to touch you… I know you want to hear that. And you can’t begin to imagine how much I want to touch you. Why do you think I came here? This is one of those rare occasions when I’ve done something that makes very little sense…’

Susie liked the sound of that. She liked the thought that she might be driving him a little crazy. Because he was driving her more than a little crazy and she wanted him to touch her so badly that she could scarcely think straight.

‘I’m not wearing a bra,’ she muttered, excited and shocked by the brazenness of that admission.

‘Let me see.’

Her hands were trembling as she lifted the jumper. Was she really doing this? Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive, her nipples pulsing. She had squeezed her eyes tightly shut but now she half opened them to sneak a glance at his face and the heat in his eyes made her giddy.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Sergio muttered. He pressed his hand against his erection to try and control it.

Her breasts were big, her nipples huge pink discs. She projected the air of someone who was unfamiliar with stripping off…shy, hesitant.

Was that image correct? He didn’t give a damn. He just knew that he wanted her.

With a stifled groan he pulled her and she toppled onto him, her breasts squashing against his chest, her heart racing.

They blindly found each other’s lips and the probing of his tongue lit her up like a spark set to dry tinder. Her fingers curled into his hair and she squirmed against him, his clothes a horrible, unwanted barrier between them. When he drew back she hungrily reached forward, kissing the side of his mouth, his neck, breathing softly and erratically against his cheek.

‘I’m too big for this sofa,’ Sergio muttered unsteadily. ‘Tell me you have a real bed here and not some fold-out nonsense.’

‘I have a bed. It creaks.’

‘That’ll do.’

She didn’t know how they made their way to the bedroom. She just knew that they did. She just knew that she found herself lying on her double bed, which took up most of the room, and watching as he slowly…very slowly…began removing his clothes.

She couldn’t peel her eyes away. The constant pale light from the street lamps outside illuminated the room just sufficiently for her to appreciate the awesome, powerful masculinity of his body.

He was honed to physical perfection. Broad, bronzed shoulders and a broad chest with a dusky coating of hair tapered to a slim waist and lean hips. Sometime, while doing whatever he did to be able to afford his standard of living, he must surely get around to doing lots of gruelling exercise.

Her eyes dipped as he stepped out of his boxers, and widened at his impressive erection.

More than anything in the world she wanted to touch herself, to alleviate some of the desperate need coursing through her body.

She marvelled that he could see anything in her at all. Okay, so her intellect might leave him a bit cold, but surely someone that sinfully sexy couldn’t be attracted to her?

But he was.

It was there in his eyes and in a certain stillness about him—as if he was doing his utmost to control himself.

‘Like what you see?’

Some inarticulate choked sound managed to emerge and he grinned.

‘I’m taking that as a yes…’ He strolled towards the side of the bed, watching her watching him. ‘Touch me,’ he ordered huskily.

Susie propped herself up, touched him delicately, and drew courage from the way he reacted—his big erection stiffening even more and a half-heard hiss escaping his lips.

She circled his girth with her hand and then flicked her tongue along the throbbing shaft. His big hand tangled in her hair, controlling her exploring mouth and the flicks of her tongue as she tasted him.

He shuddered…breathed in…exhaled jerkily…finally tugged her away from him, easing the pressure of his fingers in her hair and only slowly regaining his breath.

He arched back, his eyes closed, nostrils flaring. His eyes flickered open and met hers.

Sergio could feel her gentle breath on his erection as she stared up at him. Her blonde hair tumbled over his hand and spilled in curly tangles over her slender shoulders. She still had the wretched jogging bottoms on, but her full breasts hung like ripe fruit, succulent and tantalising.

He had to keep very still, hold himself together, because control was slipping through his fingers faster than a knife through butter. He breathed deeply, drinking her in, then lowered himself onto the bed next to her.

She shuffled to allow him room and flipped over onto her side.

‘You have an amazing body,’ she breathed in frank honesty, and Sergio raised his eyebrows, amused, because women might come on to to him but rarely were they so openly admiring.

She traced her finger along his collarbone, shivering with excitement, and circled one brown nipple.

‘You must go to the gym a lot,’ she murmured.

‘When I find the time.’

He spread his hand over her stomach and eased it under the track pants and under her panties until he felt the downy softness of her pubic hair.

He parted the soft folds of her vagina and slipped his finger into the honeyed dampness between her legs, finding the little bud of her clitoris and rubbing it gently until she was moaning with pleasure.

‘You need to take these things off…’ he said roughly. ‘I’m doing my best to take things slowly, but I can’t guarantee that my efforts are going to last much longer…’

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this…’

‘Let’s save the incredulity for later. I’m going crazy.’

Too damned crazy to keep his hand down there. He tugged the joggers down and she wriggled out of them, taking her underwear at the same time and kicking both to the ground, and then she lay flat on the bed, twisting as he straddled her.

He didn’t give her time to touch his erect penis. He couldn’t. She had already done devastating things to his self-control when she had sucked him.

Now it was his turn. The only way he could try and get his self-control back where it belonged.

He rose up and gazed down at her as she lay there, spread naked beneath him. Her arms were stretched out and the bed was so stupidly small that the tips of her fingers practically touched either side of it. The mattress was lumpy and she was right. The bed creaked. It was anything but a four-poster creation, with satin sheets and gauze curtains, but he couldn’t have been more turned on.

He would take his time.

Difficult when the scent of her filling his nostrils was like a drug.

He lowered his head, took one succulent nipple into his mouth and suckled on it, pulling it in and drawing deep, holding her firm as she wriggled like a little eel, hardly able to contain her mounting excitement.

Her hands kneaded his shoulders and she arched back, breathing fast, her nipple thrust into his mouth, her legs spread wide under him. He nudged between them with his knee, felt her wetness, and had to stop immediately or risk tipping over the edge.

Which would be a first—and not a first he wanted.

He steadied himself, switched to her other nipple, teasing it with his teeth and his tongue while he played with the other one, rubbing it between his fingers, gentle strokes that had her panting.

Her breasts were generous—more than generous, given her stature—but her stomach was flat, her waist slender.

He trailed a path down her ribcage, tickling her with his tongue, pausing only to circle her belly button, and she gave an embarrassed little yelp as he settled between her legs.

This was not the woman in the red dress. The woman in the red dress would have been a hell of a lot more experienced. The woman in the red dress would have played games, would have done her utmost to hold his interest by being inventive and acrobatic. No, this was the girl in the baggy jogging bottoms and the baggy sweatshirt, with no make-up and freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

And who was she?

He swept past that question, which had popped into his head from nowhere, because this was definitely not the time to be reflecting on who she was or what her motives were.

She was slick against his tongue, which he flicked into her and along the sensitive crease that sheathed her clitoris. He felt that little stiff bud and tickled it so that she groaned and arched her hips up, allowing him to cup her bottom with his hands.

Dazed, Susie looked down at the dark head moving between her thighs. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this level of eroticism. Part of her really couldn’t believe she was allowing herself to drop all her inhibitions like this, and another part was relishing every single second of the experience.

She bucked against his mouth as she felt herself getting closer and closer to a climax and with a fierce groan he rose up and thrust into her—just one long, deep thrust, as though he couldn’t stop himself. Just as quickly he withdrew with a muttered oath.

‘What’s wrong…? You can’t stop now… Please…’

‘I need to get a condom. I can’t believe…’

He couldn’t believe that he had done the unthinkable—that he had been so turned on that he had entered her without protection, even for a split second.

He placed the condom on with fingers that weren’t quite steady, and this time…

One deep thrust.

He was huge, thick and hard inside her, and it felt so good that she wanted to scream out loud. He began moving, easing himself deeper inside her, moving faster.

Susie wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts bouncing as their movements meshed until they were moving as one, totally in sync.

Her orgasm was overpowering—shooting her into orbit and subsiding so gradually that it seemed to last for ever—and then she knew that he had come as well, felt his whole body stiffen and heard him groan out loud.

He rolled off her and shielded his face with his arm.

This was normally the moment when his mind began slowly but inexorably turning to work. It was amazing how easily he found it to focus on problems and ongoing deals in the aftermath of lovemaking.

Most times he would allow his body a few minutes to subside, then he would be on his feet, heading for the shower, eyeing the laptop which was always within handy reach.

Tonight was different. She nestled against him, and his instinctive urge to ease her away from that sort of compromising position was absent.

Which was odd, considering he had so many reservations about her.

‘Was I okay?’ she asked shyly, splaying her fingers on his chest and ruffling the dark hair which was so masculine and sexy.

Sergio didn’t think anyone had ended a hot lovemaking session with him with that question on her lips, and he smiled and stroked the hair away from her flushed face.

‘Terrible,’ he said gravely, and then grinned when she tapped him lightly on the arm after a moment’s horrified hesitation. ‘Sorry—I meant brilliant,’ he murmured, meaning every word of it.

‘I didn’t expect you to come here, you know…’ Susie told him softly.

She lay back and stared up at the ceiling, which was in dire need of several coats of paint. She twisted so that she was looking at his profile.

Sergio sighed. Certain things had to be put straight, which was a nuisance—but, whatever and whoever she was, she needed to know that this was just something passing. A virus that would clear from his system in no time at all. He could feel her big brown eyes gazing at him, could feel the softness of her breasts against his arm, and he was startled when his body leapt into arousal once again.

‘Sometimes the unexpected happens…’ He addressed the ceiling, putting one hand on his erection and holding it firmly, because right now it wasn’t going anywhere—not until he had said what he had to say.

He turned to her and breathed in her clean floral scent.

In actual fact this was a speech he never actually had to give—not in so many words. It was always understood that, whilst he might thoroughly enjoy a woman’s company, it would be a mistake for her to start building castles in the sky. The women he dated generally got the unspoken message.

‘Which,’ he continued carefully, ‘isn’t to say that it necessarily means anything.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean…put it this way…you told me that you favoured optimism over realism…’

‘I said I favoured optimism over cynicism. What’s the point in being cynical? How can you ever look forward to what life has to bring if you’re busy seeing everything from a gloomy angle?’

Sergio was temporarily distracted. He thought, in passing, that she had amazing eyes—a curious shade of brown, milk chocolate in colour, and fringed with lush, dark lashes… And the tiny mole on her cheekbone was pretty cute as well.

‘It’s extraordinary that you can face each day brimming over with optimism when you live here…’

‘That an incredibly snobby thing to say.’

‘You’re probably right.’ He flushed darkly. Stanley had said more or less the same thing to him, earlier in the evening.

‘You can come from money and still empathise with people who haven’t got any…’

‘Of course I empathise with people who don’t have money… Not that it’s particularly relevant, but Stanley, my driver, doesn’t come from an exalted background!’ He raked his fingers through his hair and wondered how they had ended up down this blind alley.

‘That’s not empathising—that’s recognising…there’s a difference. Although…’ she relented and met his eyes squarely ‘…it’s pretty cool what you did for him.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He told me. About you helping him get back on his feet after he’d spent time in prison. He said that he pretty much wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t stepped in and rescued him from himself.’

‘Stanley told you that…? He never talks about his past. For God’s sake—he was supposed to deliver you back to your apartment, not launch into an explanation of his life experiences. I’ll have to have a word with him. Discretion is always—but always—the better part of valour when it comes to the business of being a chauffeur.’

‘Please don’t! People confide in me… I’ll be mortified if you go to him and tell him off for opening up…’

Sergio could scarcely believe that his driver had ‘opened up’. He wasn’t the opening up kind. ‘People confide in you…?’

‘It’s one of the things I do really well. I make people feel comfortable…’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘It’s one of my few talents.’

‘How did we get on to this?’

‘I don’t know. You were telling me… Well, actually, you were telling me that the fact you showed up here doesn’t mean anything.’

She couldn’t bear the thought of hearing him inform her in that dark, bone-melting voice of his that he’d had his fill and it was time to say goodbye. Maybe he would tell her that she was worth every rose he had sunk his money into.

Had he said anything when she had jokingly told him that she’d help stick them in vases at his apartment because he would have to take most of them away? She couldn’t remember. Her brain felt fuzzy, caught up with trying to predict what he was going to say.

‘I know it doesn’t,’ she said lightly, because it seemed a better idea to take the bull by the horns than to wait for it to destroy the shop.

‘It doesn’t. I’m not interested in forging a relationship with you, Susie.’

‘I know. I’m not your type,’ she interjected quickly, before he could really get going on something truly hurtful.

‘Even if you were…’

‘You mean, even if I was one of those high-powered, my-career-is-everything types?’

‘If you want to put it that way… Even if you were one of those, I still wouldn’t be interested in any kind of relationship.’

‘Why is that? Don’t you ever want to settle down?’

‘I expect I will one day,’ Sergio said with a shrug, ‘and when I do I’ll make sure I choose a woman with whom it seems a workable proposition. I’m not on the hunt for emotional ties.’

He had bitter first-hand knowledge of where emotional ties could lead. He had seen his father reduced by a girl who had played on his emotions and then used his weakness to take what she could. He had seen what happened when control was lost.

‘Oh. I see.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’

Suddenly lying naked next to him on the bed felt too intimate… She swung her legs over the side, avoiding hitting the wall with the soles of her feet from habit, and yanked at the blanket which she kept on her bed for those really cold nights when the tepid central heating just wasn’t quite enough to warm her up, even when she was under her duvet.

She wrapped it around her and banged on the overhead light in the process as she headed out of the door and to the little bathroom off to the side.

She needed to get her thoughts in order.

Sergio, on the verge of following her—because why the hell did she have to overreact to a perfectly simple word of warning?—stopped in his tracks and took notice of what had not been visible when they had stumbled into the bedroom.

The bookshelf at the side of the bed.

The top shelf groaned under the weight of art books and the remaining three shelves were crammed with illustrations of varying sizes painted onto hardboard, some of them overlapping. He went closer. They were exquisite. Very detailed. Some depicted birds or flowers, others recognisable cartoon characters in comic poses.

She hadn’t been lying. Not about this, at any rate.

Of course it made no difference, he decided. She might not be the gold-digger he had first thought, but…

She was in the shower. He could hear it going and he roamed through her tiny sitting area, taking in all the expensive little trinkets that were dotted here and there.

So she had expensive tastes? Maybe she saved whatever little money she earned and splashed out on expensive stuff?

Or maybe they were presents from rich ex-lovers?

Not caring for the thought of that, he headed straight for the bathroom and pushed open the door. He hadn’t expected it to have the sophistication of something as simple as a lock and he had been right. No lock.

She gave a startled shriek as he yanked back the shower curtain and he smiled drily when she tried to cover all her private parts with her hands—which left a cute little nipple showing, as well as some deliciously damp pubic hair peeping past her fingers.

‘If you don’t mind,’ Susie nearly shouted, still seething because she had managed to ignore every single warning sign and fly into bed with someone who had filled her flat with stupid roses and was now trying to think of a way of dispatching her.

‘I don’t if you don’t…’ Sergio grinned slowly and then stepped into the shower with her.

He was far too tall, and far too broad, and it was beyond cramped but he didn’t mind. Whether it was because he’d discovered those paintings, worked out that she had at least told the truth about one thing, whether she’d listened to his warnings or not, he knew that there was no doubt in his mind that this was just too damned good to end just yet…

‘What are you doing? I don’t want you in here with me!’

‘Why not? I can reach lots of places you can’t reach with the soap…’ He cupped her protesting face in his hands and kissed her while the water streamed over them.

Susie tried her best to resist. She was confused. Could she do this? Was this really her? Was she a woman who could have a full-blown affair with a guy when she knew—when she had been told in no uncertain terms—that it was going nowhere?

Did a relationship have to go anywhere, anyway? Of course she was essentially a romantic, someone who believed in love and happy endings, but that wasn’t life most of the time—and what was the point in denying herself the joy of adventure, the fun of searching, the excitement of the unknown in the meanwhile?

The forthcoming wedding and her anxious desire to show up with someone halfway decent had thrown everything out of proportion. She had suddenly become desperate to find someone suitable, to prove herself in her family’s eyes…and desperation had made her lose perspective.

She didn’t need guarantees of anything to have fun. He had been brutally honest and she had learnt a valuable lesson from that honesty: take what was on offer and ask for nothing more or else walk away right now…

‘I was tactless,’ Sergio murmured, drawing back and staring down at her. ‘Forgive me.’

He reached for the bar of soap, rubbed at it until it lathered and then began to soap her, his body pressing against hers as though they were doing a very slow dance together. He soaped her back, her buttocks and then her stomach.

By the time his hands made it to her breasts she was no longer thinking straight. In fact she wasn’t thinking at all.

‘I’d suck your nipples,’ he murmured, ‘but this cramped space won’t allow that sort of luxury. Next time we do anything under running water it’s not going to be here. You’ll have to settle for me playing with them instead… Like it? How much…? You have fantastic nipples…nice and big and very, very suckable… Shall I tell you what I’d really like to do now?’

‘No! You’re turning me on too much…’

‘I like that. We could head for the bed, but I’m enjoying this experience…enjoying thinking about how much more we could do if we had just a little more space… I could get down on my knees and taste you down there…would you like that?’

‘Stop…’ she begged.

She wanted him inside her so badly that it hurt, but he was right. The shower cubicle was fashioned on the same small scale as everything else in the flat. She couldn’t even let him lift her onto him—couldn’t wrap her legs around his body, couldn’t let him penetrate her that way. Not without paramedics getting involved.

‘Play with me,’ he urged. ‘There are other ways of getting some satisfaction…’

He moved under the water, his hand pressed against the tiled wall, his powerful body jerking as she excited him with her hand until he had descended from his climax.

Her body was craving fulfilment. She parted her legs and moaned softly as he slipped his fingers into her. With his hand on her back, he manoeuvred her until he found the perfect position, the perfect place to bring her to her own shuddering orgasm.

She flung back her head, not caring that he was looking at her in her most intensely private moment, and her whole body stiffened as those magical fingers stroked and rubbed, fast then slow, hard then gentle, taking her to the very peak of physical pleasure.

The water was beginning to go cold when she was once again breathing evenly, her eyes drowsy with satisfaction.

Sergio switched off the shower and then dried her off, very tenderly.

She was spent. She felt like a rag doll, quite happy for him to take her in hand.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you by being blunt,’ he said, once he’d sat her down in the sitting room, with her bathrobe around her and a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘I just wanted to make sure that there weren’t any mixed messages.’

‘I know.’ Susie sipped her coffee and realised this was what it was—his way of gently but firmly reminding her of the conditions for whatever relationship they enjoyed. It wasn’t going to last. He was giving her an out.

The dozens and dozens of roses were proof of how much he wanted her…but if she didn’t agree to his terms and conditions there would be no more of those. The pursuit would be well and truly over.

‘I’m not a kid, whatever you might believe. I’m not after your money either. I can look after myself, and I understand perfectly what you’re saying to me. No involvement except of a sexual kind.’ She shrugged. ‘A little light-hearted fun…sounds like a brilliant idea…’

Sergio dealt her a slashing smile. ‘Good.’ Midnight-blue eyes fixed on her with immense satisfaction. ‘Come lie on me, in that case, and tell me all about those paintings I saw in your bedroom…’

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WRETCHED WEDDING was here. In the thrill of being with Sergio she had forgotten about it, even though her mother and her sister had made sure to remind her at frequent intervals, had quizzed her as to whether she had bought a dress.

Susie wondered whether they expected her to show up in an artist’s smock with a paintbrush stuck behind her ear. Or maybe wearing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt and trainers, because she always left the ‘looking smart’ stuff to Alex, who did it so much better. Alex was tall, leggy, brunette, sophisticated. Clothes just always seemed to hang better on her.

Being five foot four, prone to looking round, with wild blonde hair that strenuously resisted the call of straighteners was always going to be a challenge to smart outfits.

But she had bought a dress and now, sitting cross-legged on her bed, she stared at it without really seeing it at all.

Of course Sergio wouldn’t be going with her. Even though they had now been seeing one another for nearly two months—two blissful, sexy, passionate months.

She felt a lump in her throat and tears begin to gather at the back of her eyes, because soon it was all going to have to draw to a painful close. Painful for her, at any rate.

She had only gone and disobeyed his orders not to get involved, not to see what they had as anything more than what it was—fantastic sex. It was the lynchpin of their relationship. They couldn’t keep their hands off one another. He had confessed that he was surprised, because he had expected it to fizzle out after a couple of weeks, and she had taken that to mean that however good the sex was she really didn’t have what it took to hold his interest.

Not the way he held hers. The way that made her want more…the way that made her think of commitment and permanence…the way that made her crave a future and plans that went further than what they were going to do the following evening.

She wouldn’t be seeing him tonight because he was in New York, clinching a big deal. He had been gone two days and he would be gone two more, conveniently over the wedding weekend, so she hadn’t even had to skirt round the issue.

Not that he would have volunteered to come anyway. She had grudgingly confessed that the reason she had been so idiotically tempted into online dating had been to see whether the love of her life might have materialised out there, so that she could show him off at her cousin’s wedding and kill all those muted whispers about when she was going to find herself a decent guy.

He had grinned and told her that he had never heard such a crazy reason for dating losers who went online to see what they could catch.

She lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, considering her options.

Next to her was the little stick with the bright blue lines announcing that her life as she knew it was over.

Pregnant!

He had been beyond careful every single time they had made love except for that very first time, when he had moved inside her and then withdrawn almost immediately—but not fast enough, because he had left behind enough of himself to create the little tiny life that was beating away inside her now.

He was going to go mad.

He was going to run faster than a speeding bullet.

Oh, yes, he would do the decent thing by her financially, but he didn’t do long-term relationships.

She was facing a sea change and there would be no one by her side. Her parents were going to be disappointed. Her mother would shake her head and try to find a silver lining somewhere. Her father would make noises about her moving back home to live with them—although they spent most of their time out of the country anyway, so it wasn’t as though they would be around for babysitting duties. She and Alex had had nannies from birth, so it was unlikely that a surprise grandchild would suddenly convert her parents into the sort of people who would enjoy pushing a pram in the park and feeding the ducks.

And Alex would be disappointed as well. How could you have been so careless? Contraception is free, Susie! So that this sort of thing can be prevented! She could almost hear her sister’s voice ringing in her ears.

Disappointment all round.

A wave of self-pity washed over her. Just when she was beginning to build up a steady base with her freelance work, just when she was on the verge of getting a commission from one of the museums to illustrate the natural history section for a book to be brought out the following year…

Her cell phone buzzed and she glanced at Sergio’s number and debated whether she should just let it ring. He had called her at least twice a day since he had been in New York.

‘Hi.’

She couldn’t resist hearing the deep drawl of his sexy voice. Even from across the Atlantic it still managed to do weird and wonderful things to her tummy.

But she knew that she sounded flat, and she decided that she didn’t care because soon there would be no more of him anyway.

She wasn’t quite sure when she would break the news. No rush. She had to take time out to get her head round it herself before she started trying to cope with his horror.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ She tried to inject her usual ready laugh into her voice, but it petered out into a sigh and she lacked the energy to take it up a notch.

Instead, she asked him what he was doing, how his deal was going, whether he had sorted it out. They never talked about his work. She knew he did high-powered stuff involving complicated finance and tricky acquisitions. And she now had a better idea of just how much he owned. Enormous amounts of money. Companies all over the place—from restaurants to a publishing house.

However, she just didn’t have it in her to get detailed when it came to showing her interest—which, she guessed, was just one of those chasms between them. His future would include a woman who understood the ins and outs of what he did and could fully follow if he chose to discuss the details.

Thinking about that brought her right back to a future he certainly wouldn’t want—and that would be one with a child he hadn’t banked on and a woman he fundamentally didn’t see as having a lasting place in his life.

‘Huh?’ She surfaced to realise that he had asked her something.

‘Spit it out, Susie. What’s bugging you? You’ve just asked me about my deal, which is something you never do, and you haven’t said a word about what you’ve been doing. Where’s my sexy chatterbox disappeared to?’

Susie stiffened. Sexy. Chatterbox. That was what she represented to him, she thought with unusual bitterness. She was someone to get into bed with who talked a lot. She bored him with inane chatter about her work, her illustrations, conversations she’d had with random people during the course of the day, gossip she’d shared with her friends, all their escapades and little adventures. He always listened, but that wasn’t to say that he listened with interest, was it? He listened because it came as part of the package deal that included the sex he was always reminding her was the best he’d ever had.

‘You’re not angsting over that wedding, are you?’ Sergio drawled drily.

Should he tell her that he had decided to surprise her there with his presence? He really didn’t want her getting the wrong idea, and weddings were occasions when wrong ideas could easily start taking shape, but he wanted to fill in some missing pieces. He wasn’t into meeting the family members of the women he slept with, but for someone so open she was reticent when it came to family stories.

What was she hiding? He might not be in it for the long haul but he didn’t like secrets. Secrets made him uneasy. He liked knowing the layout of the land around him. He liked control, and if that meant meeting her relatives, then so be it. He wanted a complete picture. The picture might throw up all the suspicions he had had of her in the beginning again, and then it would be a shame but he would have to get rid of her.

And, on a more fundamental level, he was missing the feel of her responsive little body.

‘Er…yes, I guess so…’ Susie clung to this lifeline. ‘You know…there’ll be so many people there…relatives I haven’t seen for a million years…all that small talk…’

‘You’re good at small talk.’ He shook off the uncomfortable thought that he wanted to believe what she told him.

She gritted her teeth. ‘And I’m beginning to think that I should have got the blue dress instead of this brown one. Brown’s such a drab colour.’

So he thought she was only good for sex and small talk? Well, she might just as well live down to his expectations! She droned about the dress with suitable enthusiasm until she began boring herself.

‘You looked sexy as hell when you tried it on for me…’ Sergio murmured, thinking ahead to ripping it off her. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would just push the flimsy fabric up and take her while she was still dressed to kill. Maybe he would insist that she left on the high stilettos…

He relaxed, comfortable with thoughts of the fantastic sex they would have. A quiet place somewhere…assuming there would be a quiet place…because he had no idea where the venue was.

He only knew that the wedding was being held in the country somewhere. Berkshire. Probably a town hall…or a village pub… He had the address, but it meant nothing to him because he rarely saw fit to venture outside London.

‘In fact…’ He dropped his voice a couple of levels, ‘I’ve been having some rather interesting fantasies involving that dress…’

Susie didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to be reminded that she was just all about the sex and the small talk. She also didn’t want to feel the liquid she was now feeling pooling between her legs, making her want to touch herself right here, right now.

‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work…and…er…not having…fantasies about me in a drab brown dress…?’

‘You’re cute when you fish for compliments, Susie…’

‘I was doing no such thing!’

‘Of course you were. You want me to tell you that the dress isn’t brown…and it isn’t drab—at least not on you. You want me to tell you that those chiffon layers give just enough of a hint of what’s underneath to drive any sane man crazy with desire… You want me to tell you that if you were wearing that dress for me and me alone I’d insist you don’t wear a bra. But, considering you won’t be, then you’re under orders to wear your sturdiest, least attractive bra—because I don’t want any other man’s eyes lingering too long on your breasts…those breasts are for my eyes only…’

‘Stop…’ She hated the way he could make her blood run hot in her veins, the way he could make her blush and giggle and could drive every coherent thought from her head.

‘I wouldn’t stop,’ he murmured huskily, glancing down at his watch and realising that in under fifteen minutes someone would tap him on the shoulder and tell him that he was ready to board, ‘but I’ve got to run. And…’

‘Time is money. Yes. I know.’ It was what he always said, in that teasing voice of his, and it had become their private mantra—which was just one of the stupid little things that had lulled her into falling in love with him. One of the shared jokes which made their relationship feel so intimate to her but which really didn’t mean anything to him at all.

She remembered the pregnancy test stick, temporarily forgotten, which was on the bed next to her.

‘I’m not sure I can see you on Sunday evening when you get back,’ she said flatly. ‘Things aren’t going to end until quite late Saturday night…probably not until the early hours of Sunday morning…and I’m thinking I might just hang around for the rest of Sunday there…catch up with all those relatives I haven’t seen in such a long time…’

‘I thought catching up with the relatives you haven’t seen in a long time was one of the things bugging you about going in the first place…?’

‘There are quite a few I do actually want to see…so… Maybe next week we can…er…meet up…?’

Normally she would be hopping up and down at the thought of seeing him, not politely putting him off, but these weren’t normal times, were they? Normal times were at an end, and she had to start laying the foundations for her eventual withdrawal. She had to train herself to get used to not having him around—and widening the gaps between the times when they saw one another was step one on that road.

Her mind fogged over. Because there were now so many steps on this new road that she wasn’t sure where to put the first one.

‘No problem,’ Sergio said easily, thinking that she would be seeing him a whole lot sooner than she anticipated.

‘No problem?’

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Right. Yes. Call me.’

‘Really have to go now… I’ll see you when I see you…’

He disconnected. Susie stared at her mobile phone, heart thudding. He hadn’t expressed any disappointment at the thought that he wouldn’t be seeing her the weekend when he returned from New York.

Was he tiring of her? Had she reached her sell-by date? She had always known that it existed, but now that it was staring her in the face she felt sick, desperate with longing, panicked at the thought that he might be in the process of dumping her, and angry with herself for not being stronger when it was going to happen anyway—just as soon as she detonated her bomb under his carefully organised life.

She barely slept at all, woke the following morning far later than she had planned, and then spent the remainder of the morning rushing around, trying to do clever things with her hair, looking at the clock, and frantically wrapping the present she had bought in paper she had designed herself but unfortunately not in quite the right size, so that she had to camouflage the gap with ordinary brown paper and very wide ribbon.

In between all of this she kept stopping in front of the mirror, gazing at her still flat stomach and wondering what was going on inside.

The wedding ceremony kicked off at three, at the small church in the village where her aunt and uncle lived. It was the sort of picture-postcard-perfect place that only the super-rich could afford. No one would ever guess that it was a thriving commuter hub for many of those top businessmen who had to get into the City, where they could earn sufficient money to install their families in the rolling mansions and quaint cottages that dotted that part of Berkshire.

As a child, she and Alex had always enjoyed making the trip down to see Clarissa. Their own parents, Louise and Robert Sadler, had lived further north, and being close to London had seemed like a grand adventure whenever they had ventured south.

Clarissa and her husband-to-be, Thomas, at twenty-two and twenty-eight respectively, were good candidates for the Berkshire lifestyle. He was an up-and-coming barrister and she was destined to be the perfect stay-at-home wife.

On the way out of her flat Susie paused to look at her reflection in the mirror again and thought to herself that Clarissa might have beaten both she and Alex up the aisle, much to her mother’s dismay, but she would be the first to deliver a grandchild.

Even if, she thought with a grimace, the standing ovation might be a little muted.

She had planned on taking the train and then a taxi to the church, but on the spur of the moment she threw parsimony to the winds and decided on a taxi for the entire trip.

It meant dipping into the trust fund which she had always refused to touch, because it was there for when she decided to find somewhere to buy, but she honestly couldn’t face the hassle of the train station in her wedding outfit.

Not when her thoughts were all over the place. Not when she felt sick with tension at the unexpected future in front of her. Definitely not when she thought of Sergio and the way he had casually dismissed her.

Outside, it was the perfect day for an early spring wedding. The skies were blue and cloudless, and the air was crisp rather than cold. Coats were needed, but thin ones, and there was no mud anywhere for delicate high heels to subside into.

Clarissa would be thrilled to bits. She had always had an uncanny ability to make people and things in general fall in line with what she wanted, and lo and behold the weather was being obedient.

Susie grinned, relaxing as she was driven to the church and only tensing once more when she was deposited outside, to join the two-hundred-strong throng of people piled in front.

Immediately her parents descended, followed by her sister, and for the next two hours there was blessed reprieve from her thoughts.

With all the romance in her soul she was tearful during the ceremony, and proud as punch at the stunning picture her cousin made in her meringue of a wedding dress, befitting a girl who had spent the first eight years of her life believing that she was a fairy princess.

There were hundreds of photos outside the church, and then the bride and groom left for Clarissa’s parents’ house in a white Bentley. Everyone else made their way the five miles or so in assorted cars.

Susie, sandwiched between her mother and her sister, half listened to Alex telling them about her new promotion, which would see her in line to become the youngest ever neurosurgeon at one of the leading hospitals in London. When there was eventually a lull in the conversation she half-heartedly told them that she was finally beginning to see some light in trying to track down clients for her illustrations.

At least her mother had steered clear of talking about guys so far.

‘Susannah, darling, what’s happening on the man front with you? I thought you might have surprised us by bringing a nice young man with you to the wedding…’

‘Er…they’re thin on the ground, Mother…all getting snapped up by beauty queens like Clarissa…’

‘Darling, you look perfectly charming today…’

‘What about all the other days?’ Susie asked wryly.

Louise Sadler gave her a fond pat on the arm. ‘You could add to your wardrobe of jeans with some more feminine clothes…you look an absolute dream in dresses…’

‘A bad dream.’

Up ahead, the mansion that was Kate and Richard Princeton’s house rose splendidly into view.

‘The house looks nice. I like the lanterns lining the sides of the drive…’

‘It’s all a bit much, if you ask me, but you know my sister…she’s never been able to resist the lure of trying to impress everyone… Still, I suppose Clarissa is the first in the Thornton line to get married. Hopefully you’ll be next…’

‘Or Alex.’ She poked her sister in the ribs and Alex instantly chipped in that there was no time even to think about marriage—not when she was building a demanding career that ate up most of her leisure time.

Alex was just the sort of woman Sergio was drawn to. She, Susie, was the exception that proved the rule. Wasn’t that why she had never mentioned her high-achieving family? Because she didn’t want any comparisons? Because she wanted to keep living in a little bubble where she was appreciated in her own right? If he never met her family then he would never take a step back and wonder what the heck he was doing with her.

It was a mortifying thought, tapping into her own silly insecurities, and she fought against it, knowing that it wasn’t fair.

In the bigger scheme of things, silly insecurities were the least of her problems.

‘I myself am not a believer in marriage,’ she declared, to the astonishment of both her mother and her sister, and also her father, who craned back and looked at her with raised bushy eyebrows.

‘Since when?’ he demanded.

‘Since…er…living in London…’ she said airily. ‘I guess I finally see that it’s perfect for an independent woman to live her life without a guy in the background, nagging about when the dinner’s going to be put on the table while he watches the footie…’

‘You really do need to get rid of those young men you seem to like hanging around with…’ Louise Sadler gave a little moue of distaste.

‘And just for the record…’ this as her father’s driver was pulling into the courtyard, making a graceful turn before pulling to a stop and rushing round to open doors ‘…I think in this day and age it’s absolutely acceptable for a woman to bring a child up on her own! You could say I’m a changed person—forging ahead…pretty much a feminist… It took me a while to get there, but better late than never!’

She leapt out of the car and immediately immersed herself in the nearest group of guests hovering by the front door. But she was nervously perspiring, relieved that neither of her parents had had the chance to follow up on that remark.

No drinking. Just one measly glass of champagne. She wondered how on earth she would make it stretch until one in the morning.

She knew a huge amount of the invited guests. There were relatives from all corners of the globe. But she’d barely had a chance to chat to the bride and groom—just a few snatched words of congratulation.

The marquee, which dominated much of the enormous back garden, was a thing of splendour, with lots of white swirling drapes and chandeliers. The flower arrangements on the tables were so huge that they would struggle to get through her front door, and they would take up more space in her sitting room than…

Than a hundred assorted roses.

She and Sergio had transported most of them back to his place the morning after he had brought them for her, had laughed and then fallen into bed—and had kept falling into bed because they couldn’t not.

She felt a lump in her throat, and was on the verge of pinning a bright smile on her face to cover the moment of sadness when a voice behind her drawled, ‘Don’t burst into tears. It’ll look like sour grapes…’

Susie swung round, shocked to her very core, scarcely believing her eyes.

She’d been standing at the very edge of the garden, half concealed by dense shrubbery, nursing her single glass of champagne. He had crept up on her, unobserved, and for a few breathless seconds she was lost for words.

‘Surprised?’ Sergio asked softly.

If she was, then she couldn’t be more surprised than he was. He had had no reason to question his assumption that she came from humble origins. So she had a couple of expensive things in her flat…? Certainly not enough to make him think that she was anything but a girl venturing out in a fairly hazardous profession. He had assumed that whilst she might have moral support from her family, that was pretty much it on the support front.

In fact he had dared to question Stanley’s map-reading skills, only realising that he was, indeed, at the right place when the car drove up the lantern-lined drive.

And now here he was.

And there she was. Staring at him as though she expected him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

‘What are you doing here?’ Susie demanded.

He looked perfect. Every inch the drop-dead gorgeous, brooding alpha male who had stolen her heart.

‘I couldn’t resist the prospect of pulling you behind the bushes and having my wicked way. Something about that dress…’

‘You’re supposed to be wrapping up a deal in New York.’

‘I like breaking with the expected now and again. Where’s the radiant bride and the lucky groom? I have to say…this isn’t what I was anticipating…’

Susie flushed guiltily. She knew why she hadn’t breathed a word about her family—knew that if she had he would have seen her as just another little rich kid, all caught up in doing nothing much because she knew that she could be bailed out of her discomfort if she got bored or fed up. Why would someone like him want to go out with someone like that?

‘What did you anticipate?’

‘Why did you let me assume that you were penniless?’

‘I didn’t let you assume anything. Did you decide to come here so that you could check out my background?’

‘Comes with the terrain,’ he answered coolly. ‘We’ve been lovers for over two months. I like to know exactly what I’m getting into.’

‘And what if you’d found that you’d “got into” someone from a council house background? Or worse…a criminal background…? Would you have got out of it pronto?’

‘I don’t deal in hypothetical situations. At any rate, I never took you for someone from a long line of train robbers…’

That said it all, she thought.

Suddenly everything seemed very complicated. Her parents would adore him. He was just the kind of guy they’d been hoping she would bring home one day. But what was the point of introducing them to someone who wasn’t going to be around for very long? And when she broke the news to them that she was pregnant…

Susie blanched. They would immediately know the identity of the father. Did she want that? Would her parents make it their duty to confront him? They were very traditional.

She felt that she hadn’t thought anything through—but then how could she? She’d barely had time to digest the revelation herself.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she told him flatly.

Sergio looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Not the response I was expecting…’

‘This isn’t a normal relationship, Sergio. This is…sex—and meeting my family isn’t part of the deal…’ She had to say it because she needed to start distancing herself.

‘But I’m here now…’

‘Not because you wanted to come as my partner.’ She looked up at him steadily. ‘In a normal relationship we would have travelled here together. You would have wanted to meet my parents, wanted to take that next step into the future…a future of getting to know one another’s family and friends…’

‘Where has this come from?’

‘Does it matter? I’m just telling it like it is. You showed up here to do a background check on me… I suppose now that you’re here and my family has passed muster it’s all right for you to meet them?’

‘You’ve managed to blow all this out of proportion and I’m wondering why…’

Dark eyes that saw far too much rested on her flushed face and Susie did her best to get her breathing under control.

‘I’m a little stressed,’ she muttered, looking down. ‘It’s not every day the guy you’re going out with decides to check up on your family to make sure they’re not escaped convicts.’

‘That’s not the only reason I came.’

Sergio was willing to let this go. What they had was good—better than good. He didn’t want her to start getting ideas about his place in her life because she was at her cousin’s wedding. He didn’t need long, intense conversations about normal relationships, where boyfriends couldn’t wait to meet the family and have friends over for Sunday lunch.

‘Isn’t it? What, then?’

‘I missed you.’ He smiled slowly.

‘Why is it all about sex for you?’

She could read that smile as easily as she could read a book, and it still had the power to turn her legs to jelly even though her mind was doing its best to resist.

‘It’s not. Making money ranks highly as well. Ah. I spot curious eyes and a few people descending… Looks like you’re going to have to do a round of introductions whether you like it or not.’

So he’d wanted to show up unannounced…? He couldn’t see what the big deal was. When he had started this fling with her he had not expected it to last longer than a week or two. She didn’t fit his profile, and he was smart enough to work out that if the women who did fit his profile were done and dusted within a month or two then there was no chance that her novelty value would outlast a night in the sack, maybe two.

But she was still around, and he wasn’t sick of her yet… And, that being the case, it had made sense to see her in her own surroundings—the surroundings she had always made sure to keep quiet about. He had wanted to know exactly what he was dealing with instead of taking her at face value. That was just the man he was. Where was the problem?

She was still looking at him with wounded, accusing, angry eyes.

‘You know where I’m coming from,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t need you getting weepy and hysterical. I came here to make sure you weren’t playing some kind of long game. But, like I said, that wasn’t the only reason. And now that I’m here there will be questions asked if you’re sour and defiant about introducing your boyfriend to your family. So relax, Susie.’

She’d forgotten just how inherently suspicious he was, but it had been brought back to her now. She had fallen in love with a man who would only ever let her get so far and no further. There would always be part of him that was locked away. He was a charming, seductive lover, but a proper relationship would always threaten his self-control so he would never allow it. She’d conveniently managed to forget that part of him, and it hurt now to have been reminded of it.

‘I’m relaxed!’

‘You could have fooled me,’ Sergio murmured. ‘I think I know how to relax you, though…’

He kissed her on her mouth, felt a whisper of protest, and then she melted into him until he drew back and looked down at her with a sexy smile.

‘Much better.’

‘Mum! Alex…’

It wasn’t much better. She might have been able to hide away in their private little bubble before, but now she had to stand up and be counted—because there was a third party on the scene: a baby. She couldn’t keep going weak at the knees every time he glanced in her direction, pretending that the future was something that would take care of itself in due course.

‘This is… This is…’

‘I know who you are…’

Alex had moved into charming mode, and Susie sighed as she watched her older sister do what most women did when those deep, dark eyes fastened on them. Her brilliant, sharp, independent and undeniably striking sister blushed.

‘Mother, this is only Sergio Burzi. I might be a neurosurgeon,’ she added coyly, ‘but even I know who you are. How on earth did you meet Suze?’

‘You naughty little thing!’ Louise Sadler was smiling, her beautiful aristocratic face creased with delight as she looked at Susie. ‘You kept this one well hidden under your hat. I expect you were hoping to surprise us…?’

‘Or maybe,’ Alex inserted, ‘you didn’t want to say anything just in case your date didn’t turn up. You must have your diary filled to overflowing, Mr Burzi…’

‘Sergio, please…’

‘You probably don’t remember me at all, but we were at the same art gallery opening a few months ago…’

‘Sergio…’ Louise stepped forward, still thrilled to bits, and took his arm. ‘You must come and meet the rest of the family. Your father is going to be delighted,’ she whispered to Susie, who had reluctantly fallen into step as they moved towards the main party, ‘that you’ve brought along such a gorgeous chap…’

‘Mum…’

Too late. Events had been taken out of her hands. Or rather transferred from her hands into her family’s hands—and now, as the evening progressed, everyone else’s hands.

So many people had heard of him. She hadn’t known him from Adam when she had plonked herself next to him uninvited because she had been on the run from her dinner companion. She hoped to God that he didn’t breathe a word about that.

Having had him all to herself for the past few weeks, she was awestruck at the ease with which he mixed. He knew just what to say to everyone. He charmed. He was witty. He was flatteringly attentive to her. And she couldn’t help but feel a treacherous burst of pride at having his arm slung over her shoulders.

Even Clarissa, who was getting steadily more tipsy as the evening wore on, and who barely had time to talk to anyone because she was so wrapped up with Thomas, dragged her to one side and told her that she wanted to hear everything the very second they were alone together once she’d returned from her honeymoon.

Under any other circumstances, Susie would have been over the moon. Had they been seriously involved, and had their relationship gone beyond sex—had she not now been carrying his baby—she would have been bursting with happiness and daydreaming about being the next one to walk up the aisle.

As things stood…

‘Did Stanley bring you? I guess you’ll be wanting to head off now…’

Most of the guests had left. Only a circle of hard-core friends, all drunk, were swaying inside the marquee with glasses in their hands.

Outside, the temperature had dropped and she hugged her pashmina around her.

Somewhere in the course of the evening Sergio’s bow tie had been discarded, and she wanted to slip possessive fingers under his shirt and feel that hard, roughened chest against her skin. She itched to do it.

‘You’re not drinking?’

‘I…I’ve had a headache all day,’ Susie mumbled.

‘What’s eating you?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming?’

‘Not this again. I wanted to introduce the element of surprise—let’s not breathe new life into that particular argument.’

‘You don’t know what you’ve gone and done.’

‘Really? Enlighten me.’

‘Now that my parents have met you…especially in the presence of every single one of my family members on my mother’s side…they’ll all be thinking that what we have is serious—is going somewhere…’

‘I’m not responsible for what other people think.’

The cool detachment in his voice washed over her like freezing sleet, penetrating through every part of her being. ‘I know you’re not.’

‘I’m taking it that you can’t face everyone’s disappointment when this is over and we part company?’ he said, in the same horribly remote voice.

‘My parents have had a very happy marriage. Uncle Richard and Aunt Kate the same. I come from a long line of boring, happily married people…’

‘They surely can’t expect you to marry the first guy you meet?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

‘It’s not that easy, Sergio. You’ve got the makings of the perfect son-in-law—especially after some of the guys they’ve met in the past. You’ve come here… They’ll be thinking that…’

That we’re in love…because they’ll want someone like you for me…

It occurred to her that she had never told him how she felt about him, never breathed a word, because she had been so sure that she could play by his rules. No wonder he was having a hard time trying to work out why she was so hot and bothered because he had shown up.

‘Stop analysing everything. You’re so keyed up, worrying about what other people might think, that you can’t seem to see that it’s your life at the end of the day. You live it as you see fit. If other people have other plans in mind, then tough.’

‘You’re so black and white.’

‘Like I said, I’ve seen what misplaced emotion can do. I stick to what I know. It makes life a damned sight less complicated.’

‘What…what was that girl like?’

She hadn’t been aware that she was going to ask that question until it left her mouth and Sergio, caught on the back foot, raised his eyebrows in a perplexed, impatient frown.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You once said that you’re the way you are because you had a learning curve… Who was the woman who provided the learning curve?’

‘What difference does it make?’

‘None. And if you don’t want to talk about it, then forget I asked.’

She shrugged, started making for the kitchen door of the house, which she knew would lead to the spacious ground floor and eventually the front door and her way out—although how she was getting home she had no idea. Her ride, in the form of her parents and Alex, had gone an hour and a half ago. It would have to be another taxi.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Bed and breakfast. It’s in the village. A bunch of us are booked in there.’

‘And I,’ he said smoothly, ‘am booked into the one and only five-star hotel ten miles away.’

‘I’d rather not come with you…’

‘Sure about that?’

And he swooped to kiss her, his tongue probing into her mouth, enveloping her in a swirl of heated responses that shook her to the core.

He did this every time. She needed to think…not say goodbye to all her thought processes and cling to him like a vine.

Yet of their own volition her arms curled round his neck and she found herself gently but efficiently propelled back until she was pressed against the wall in the deserted hallway.

‘We can’t… Not here…’

‘Then I guess that means you’ll be coming back with me…’

CHAPTER SIX

‘HER NAME WAS Dominique Duval. Still is, for all I know—although who can be sure? She might have moved on to marriage number two…or three…or four by now. It’s been a few years, and no one could ever accuse Dominique of being anything other than a fast worker. I met her in a club.’

‘You know, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to…’

Was she really ready to hear a story of thwarted passion? Was she ready to learn all about his one and only true love and how she’d let him down? Left him to marry someone else?

‘You asked, and after more time together than I’d anticipated it’s only fair that you understand why me and commitment will never have anything more than a passing acquaintance.’

‘When you fall in love with someone it can be brutal when things go pear-shaped—especially if you’ve pinned your hopes on it working out.’

She heard a certain wistfulness in her voice and pulled herself up sharply, because the last thing she wanted was for him to guess at the depth of her feelings for him. When she told him that she was pregnant she would do so as a calm, collected adult whose only priority was to discuss technicalities and to reassure him that he could take as much or as little interest as he wanted.

‘Or so I would imagine,’ she added.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Sergio informed her. ‘I was never in love with that woman. It’s true she made a pass at me the first time we met, but I was involved with someone else at the time, and having fun with two women at the same time has never been my style.’

‘You were never in love with her? But I thought…’

‘You assumed—from a couple of throwaway remarks.’

‘How can you have a learning curve from someone you met in a club when you never had a relationship with her? Did she try and pickpocket you?’

‘My hotel. We’re here.’

Susie followed the direction of his finger to see a grand country house that was lit from top to bottom. Two uniformed men stood outside, as if guarding the entrance. She knew her aunt and uncle came to this hotel on a regular basis with friends. Apparently it did a very good dinner.

‘And, no…pickpockets don’t engender learning curves. Dominique Duval was a nurse, and she made a pass at me because she knew who I was. I was young at the time—barely out of my teens—and from a wealthy family. My mother had died years before and my father had never remarried. I was in line to inherit his fortune, but I think she knew from the get-go that a fortune in the future was a lot less enticing than a fortune she could lay her hands on immediately. Maybe if I’d been interested she would have climbed into bed with me for the fun of it, but she had set her sights higher.’

Looking back, he had been able to make sense of the interest she had shown in his background, in his widowed father—the caring, attractive ex-nurse, with a heart full of compassion and empathy because, after all, she had seen so many hurt and lonely widowers in her line of work.

‘She was a nurse? I thought that was a caring line of work…’ She was hanging on to his every word, barely noticing the grand surroundings of the hotel, or the way the woman manning the reception desk in the early hours of the morning jumped to attention the second he strode in and then scrambled behind them as they headed straight to the bank of lifts.

‘You’d think…’ Sergio flicked her a wry glance. ‘My first powerful lesson in never judging a book by its cover.’

‘And in always assuming the worst when it comes to other people’s motivations…’

‘Very good.’

‘What happened?’

Sergio’s eyes narrowed and he shrugged. His face was hard and coldly unforgiving, even though he was recalling a past situation and not currently enduring it.

‘She made sure to engineer an introduction to my father and pulled out all the right cards. She was a caring, fun girl, thirty years his junior, who could understand just what he might have been going through. She told him a life alone was no kind of life—not for a sexy silver fox like him. He was flattered. For the first time in years he decided that life was worth living after all. They were married within six months and it didn’t take long before her true colours started appearing. The caring, sharing nurse became the free-spending gold-digger she had been all along—and if that wasn’t enough she contrived to get my father to change his will. When he died suddenly of a heart attack pretty much everything went to her, and within five years she had managed to work her way through most of his fortune. Fortunately, he’d had the sense to leave the majority of his companies to me. She was cash-rich, with a couple of houses to spare, but she was still greedy enough to consult a lawyer, in the hope that she might get her hands on some of the companies. I spent five years batting her off until she finally gave up. Where she is now is anybody’s guess.’

Susie wandered over to the chaise longue by the window and sat down, her own problems temporarily on the back burner as she worked out just how he had ended up where he had.

There was safety in a hard-boiled career woman. She thought of her own sister. Alex would never be interested in anyone’s money, or in furthering herself on the back of someone else. She was fiercely independent and ambitious to get ahead under her own steam. That would be the sort of woman he would be seriously interested in. A woman who had her own life—just as he had his own life.

‘I’ve seen how a person can imagine they’re in love,’ he continued, taking up a position on the chair facing her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his expression cool and remorseless. ‘They get swept away by emotion, lose all sense of perspective, abandon their self-control. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the sort of thing that never has a good ending.’

Susie thought that he might have been describing her.

‘In due course,’ he drawled, ‘I imagine I will want to settle down, but when that time comes it will be rather more of a business arrangement than a giddy loss of judgement.’

He was uneasily aware of just how fast his self-control disappeared when he was presented with her glorious body, but immediately dismissed that as a cause for concern because there was a clear line of demarcation between the physical and the emotional. On the emotional front he knew exactly where he was going, and on the physical front… Well, a little loss of self-control was perfectly acceptable…it made a great change to his usual predictable diet.

Susie heard the unmistakable clang of his boundary lines being repositioned.

Her breathing quickened and she flushed under the steady gaze of his eyes.

Why had she let herself be talked into coming back here with him? She knew why. Because she was weak and in love. Because one kiss from him could send her common sense flying in all directions. Because she was just the sort of emotional type he had told her he didn’t need as a long-term investment.

‘It’s late.’

‘So it is…’ He slanted her a smile that turned her bones to jelly. ‘Come here.’

‘I’m not in the mood for sex.’

‘No? Do you want to put that to the test?’

‘We need to talk, Sergio. There are things… Well, things I need to say to you…’

Sergio frowned. Women who had a pressing need to talk rarely said anything he wanted to hear. He reminded himself that she wasn’t like the other women he had dated. She talked a lot. She probably wanted to talk about the wedding—her parents, her sister, her huge array of cousins. It made such a change from his non-existent family, as an only child born to only children.

His face cleared and he smiled.

‘Let’s go to bed…’

‘This isn’t pillow talk.’

‘Who said it was? I’m just finding it hard to keep going with the chat when we could be doing other things. Why don’t you give an old man a kick and do a striptease for me…?’

‘You’re only thirty-two!’ Her face warmed and her body was going into its usual meltdown.

Sergio grinned and remained where he was, enjoying the way he had hardened for her, enjoying the thrill of what was going to follow. Sooner or later he would move on because, as she had pointed out, they weren’t suited to one another, but just at the moment familiarity was a long way from breeding contempt.

He tried to swallow down his dislike of her reminding him that he wasn’t her type, but it nagged away like a thorn in his side he couldn’t quite reach.

He stood up, strolled towards the bed, shedding his clothes en route until he was left in only his trousers, which he began to remove while she watched in her usual trance-like state of fascination.

Her body was as it always was. There were no outward signs of her pregnancy. But what would happen, she wondered, when she did begin to show? When her flat stomach began to go round…when her breasts grew even bigger…? What would happen to that overwhelming lust he felt for her, which was the one and only thing that kept him going?

It was just one more thought to pile on all the other thoughts that were buzzing around in her head like a swarm of bees.

For the moment…

What if this was the last time she had him—really had him? Because she would break the news to him in the morning and then leave, giving him time to digest the indigestible.

From that point on what they had would officially be over. Which would make right now her last chance to have him make love to her, to have him touch her and feel her and want her…

If she was a coward to be snatching it with both hands then so be it.

She followed him, kicking off her high shoes, and then stood at the side of the bed, with his deep, dark eyes on her, and performed the striptease he had asked her to do.

Sexy, erotic, sensuous… In the dark so that their bodies were shadows and angles…

She was wet for him by the time she slid under the covers. Their bodies seemed perfectly matched. She had felt comfortable with him even that very first time, and she felt so much more comfortable now.

His hands knew just where to touch, what turned her on. He nuzzled her breasts and took her nipples into his mouth in a way that sent delicious sensations zapping through her. He licked her and played with her and toyed with her…taking her to the edge before bringing her back…until her whole body was on fire.

They moved together as one, in perfect unison. He enjoyed it when she straddled him, so that her breasts hung teasingly by his mouth. When she did that she was bombarded by the dual sensations of having him suckle on her breast while he teased her below with his fingers. When she took him in her mouth she knew just how to angle her body so that he could simultaneously take her in his, suck and lick her until her clitoris could take no more, and only then, when they had enjoyed one another to the max, would he don a condom and complete her fully.

This time she didn’t want their lovemaking to end. She didn’t want to close her eyes and fall asleep, knowing that the morning light would bring all sorts of problems to their horizon.

‘So…’ Sergio nuzzled her ear.

He had long since given up his habit of abandoning the woman in his bed in favour of his computer. And he had broken with tradition by allowing her to sleep over, because his mornings were always so much more satisfying when he could wake up and make love to her.

‘So…?’

‘So you didn’t paint the full, unexpurgated picture of your background because your high-achieving family make you feel insecure…’

‘Where did that come from?’ She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

‘I’m a problem-solver. I like it when things add up.’

‘And I’m something that needs adding up?’

‘Your father told me that they pleaded with you to use their apartment in Kensington but you wouldn’t. Why not?’

‘Because I’m not a kid. I can stand on my own two feet.’

Even though it meant living in a cramped, disgusting hovel. He could only admire her tenacity.

‘You might think that you sister has it all, but she envies you…did you know that?’

Susie swung to look at him, although in the darkness she could barely make out his expression. ‘Did she tell you that?’

‘She didn’t have to. I could decipher it from the way she described you…free-spirited…taking each day as it comes…’

‘Alex enjoys her life. She’s so clever you wouldn’t believe it.’

‘She’s also the eldest. There’s a lot riding on her shoulders.’

‘I never thought about it from that point of view. Maybe you’re right.’ She sighed. ‘Who cares anyway?’

‘You do.’

‘I’m tired.’ She made herself yawn. ‘It’s been a big day. I’d quite like to get some sleep now.’

Sergio cupped her breast, liking the feel of its heaviness in the palm of his big hand. He rubbed her nipple with the abrasive pad of his thumb and felt it stiffen.

‘You wanted to tell me something,’ he murmured. ‘What was it?’

Susie stilled. This was not the right time. When she detonated that bomb she knew that she would have to take cover.

‘In the morning,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m way too tired to string a sentence together now…’

‘Too tired to touch me?’ He guided her hand to his erection and felt her whole body soften and yearn towards him.

They made love slowly, like two people dancing underwater. When she came it was a long, deep climax, and she fell asleep almost immediately, her body curled into his.

Light was streaming through the windows when she next woke, and the bed was empty. She surfaced groggily and for the first five seconds was blissfully forgetful of the daunting task that lay ahead.

Her peace of mind didn’t last long and she sat up, rubbed her eyes and spotted him at the desk, working.

‘What time is it?’

‘After ten.’

Susie yelped and flung herself out of bed. Shower. Get cleaned up. Put her dress back on—which was going to look ridiculous at ten in the morning. And of course she had no make-up with her…not even a hairbrush.

She couldn’t face having this talk until she was fully dressed. Being naked and in his bed made her vulnerable.

She locked the bathroom door. For the first time. No sexy, steamy shared shower. No touching. She wasn’t even sure she would be able to look him squarely in the face, never mind having his hands on her, exploring her body, turning her brain to mush.

‘Why the big rush?’

He looked at her as she emerged fully clothed from the bathroom. As jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. Suddenly that vague feeling was back with him—the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. And yet…they had spent another incredible night together. What could be wrong? She had recovered from her little fit of pique at the thought that he had gatecrashed the wedding so that he could see for himself where she came from.

He shot her a slow, deliberate smile and it took all the will power in her repertoire not to fold.

‘I’m going to call a taxi to…er…take me back to London.’

She stuck out her chin and looked at him challengingly and Sergio frowned.

‘Why? Stanley’s waiting. My very lucky chauffeur was treated to a night in one of the finest hotels in the county so that he could be on standby for when I was ready to leave.’ He relaxed back in the chair, folded his arms on his chest and gazed at her.

‘I’m going to have to detour via the bed and breakfast I was booked into…get the stuff that I left in the room…change clothes…that sort of thing…’

Sergio didn’t say anything and silence filled the room, as heavy as a lead weight.

‘This is beginning to get on my nerves, Susie. What exactly is it that you want to say? If it’s a little speech about our future, then I’ll spare you the trauma of initiating the subject. You know how I feel on the matter.’

Sudden tension lent his voice a sharp edge that made her flinch back, as if she had been struck.

‘Of course I know!’ she snapped tensely. ‘You’ve made it perfectly clear from day one and you haven’t let up since!’

Startled at her own outburst, because it was so unlike her, she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly and took a few deep breaths. She’d been snapping at him since he had arrived and she would continue until she got what she had to say off her chest.

Sergio’s jaw hardened. ‘The reason I’m repeating myself,’ he drawled, with just the right level of boredom to induce in her another jag of misery, ‘is because weddings can sometimes do things to a girl. She sees her best friend, or in your case her cousin, walking up the aisle and suddenly she starts thinking that it’s about time her turn came along.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that.’

‘No? Because your father happened to mention in passing that a big white wedding is the only thing you’ve ever really wanted. Apparently you used to spend your childhood days dressing up your dolls in big wedding dresses and marrying them off to whatever stuffed toy was handy.’

Susie’s cheeks flamed. She’d forgotten about that. She’d certainly never thought that her father had paid the slightest bit of attention to that phase of her life.

‘I had no idea you’d been having such in-depth conversations with my parents. What else did they happen to mention “in passing”?’

‘That you insisted on that secretarial course which had only ever been a suggestion. You clung to it and stuck it out—even though it was obvious from day one that you were allergic to all things technological and got bored the second you stepped foot inside an office.’

Shaking, Susie slithered towards the chaise longue and sat down, giving her wobbly legs a rest.

He had no right to just turn up and then to burrow his way into her past via her parents. Not now. Not when everything was changing.

‘That’s not the way I remember it…’ she said, distracted. ‘Alex was always the golden girl.’

‘Memories can get a little distorted. The truth usually lies somewhere in the middle.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter. The truth is your showing up uninvited to Clarissa’s wedding…meeting my parents…wasn’t a good idea.’

‘Because they might get the wrong impression and think that this is more serious than it actually is…? Your mother might start shopping for a hat…? Your father will begin to prepare his father-of-the-bride speech…? You’ve already mentioned that. This conversation is beginning to go round in circles.’

‘It’s okay for you to sit there and smirk!’ she said in a high-pitched voice. ‘But you don’t know what it’s like!’

‘And maybe you’re overplaying how you think your family might respond to the fact that you’re going out with me. They might, actually, be a little more pragmatic than you give them credit for… They might be just a little more realistic…’ He shifted, looked at her with cool, assessing eyes. ‘And since when have you taken to shouting?’

‘I wasn’t shouting. I was trying to make a point.’ She sighed and ran her fingers through her tumbling hair. ‘Maybe this is just a side to me that you haven’t seen before. The shouting side.’

She wiped her perspiring hands on her dress and flopped back on the chaise longue, because her legs were beginning to come over all weak and wobbly again.

‘Look…I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. Nothing at all.’

Sergio’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head to one side, as though listening for something only he would be able to hear.

‘I’m not following you.’

Tense as a bowstring, Susie sprang to her feet and began pacing the room, her movements agitated. Every so often her eyes slid across to him—and the closed expression on his beautiful face didn’t exactly fill her with confidence.

She fought against the temptation to put off this awkward conversation for another day. When she was feeling a little stronger. After she had absorbed all the ramifications of her situation for herself and rustled up some kind of plan. At which point she would be able to present him with a fait accompli, all-corners-covered type of situation…

‘There’s something you need to know…and I’m afraid it’s going to put a completely different spin on what we…er…have…’

Sergio stilled. Normally so adept at reading situations, he discovered that his breathing had slowed down and his brain was not operating to its usual heightened state of efficiency.

Something was wrong. What? She still fancied the hell out of him. Even sitting there, barely meeting his eyes and wringing her hands, he could sense the mutual attraction pouring between them like a wave of electricity, undiminished.

Was she about to announce that she had done something at the wedding? While he had been busy discovering all sorts of things about her, thanks to her parents and her sister? She had seemed to know nearly every one of the guests there, including all the young men, who were obviously mutual friends of the bride and her cousins.

Jealousy rammed into him with such force that he drew his breath in sharply. Graphic images of her sneaking off with some guy behind his back competed in his head to make him feel physically sick.

Jealousy? Since when had he ever been jealous when it came to any woman?

‘I’m losing patience with this long-winded non-explanation,’ he said tightly, reining in unfamiliar emotions with difficulty. ‘If you have something to say, then why don’t you stop going round the houses and just say it?’

‘I’m pregnant.’

It was the last thing he had expected to hear and so it took him a few seconds to digest the revelation.

Then he laughed mirthlessly.

‘You have got to be kidding.’

‘Do I look like someone performing a comic routine, Sergio? I’m pregnant. I only found out yesterday. I did the test. In fact I did two tests. There’s no mistake. I’m having a baby. I’m having your baby.’

He vaulted upright, stared at her and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘You can’t be.’

He stood in front of her, feet apart, challenging her to defy that simple statement of truth.

But in his heart he recognised the ring of sincerity and fought against it.

Pregnant? How the hell had that happened? He was going to be a father? Even when he had loosely contemplated the idea of eventually settling down with a suitable woman his thoughts had not stretched into the realms of fatherhood.

His eyes flew to her stomach and just as quickly looked away.

‘Don’t tell me that I can’t be,’ Susie snapped.

She glared at him. Did he think she was lying? No, of course not! He was desperately clinging to denial because the alternative was so hideous that he couldn’t bring himself to give it credence. He was a man who liked to control every aspect of his life, and just like that he’d lost it.

She’d gone into this with her eyes wide open, never realising that she would be playing with fire. This was what it felt like to end up loving someone who didn’t actually love you back. A sick, empty feeling, as if you were spinning in a black abyss, not knowing how to get out.

But there was no point getting all worked up in the face of his reaction.

‘I’ve worked out that it happened that first time,’ she said, gathering herself. ‘Yes, we were careful all the other times—but there you go. I don’t see the point of wasting time trying to blame one another…’

‘Who said that I was apportioning blame?’

‘I wish you’d sit down, Sergio. You’re not making this any easier for me. I…I’m having to take all this in myself…’

‘You knew the entire time we were at the wedding?’

She nodded.

‘And you said nothing to me?’

‘I hardly expected you to turn up unannounced, Sergio! Besides, this isn’t the sort of conversation to be had over some bubbly and canapés.’

‘You were taken aback when I showed up…’

His brain cranked slowly back into gear. He sat down, and hunkered forward, forearms resting lightly on his thighs.

‘You didn’t want me to meet your parents because if I was in the picture it would be hard to eliminate me as the father. Were you planning on telling them that you were pregnant by some guy you’d met by chance?’ His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Some mustard-wearing creep you met on a misguided online date, maybe?’

‘No! But if you want the truth,’ she told him bluntly, ‘I knew it would complicate things if you were around. It’s going to be horrendous enough getting through this…explaining to everyone that I’m pregnant…’

Except maybe he was right… Maybe they weren’t going to be as disappointed as she had imagined—maybe they would accept it the way they perhaps, possibly, had accepted her—and she hadn’t even seen that because she’d always been so busy comparing herself to Alex and to her high-achieving, brilliant parents…

‘And our unmarried state is going to be hard for them to swallow, given their traditional views on life,’ he said acidly. ‘Erasing me would have made a hell of a lot more sense. You’re right. Maybe you could even have made me out to be some kind of bastard who got you pregnant and did a runner…? The possibilities are endless, aren’t they, when it comes to disposing of an inconvenient lover…?’

‘You’re not being fair…’

‘No?’ he mocked.

‘No. You can hardly blame me for not wanting to shout it from the rooftops. You’ve made it crystal clear to me how you feel about long-term relationships and how you feel about me.’

‘And how do I feel about you?’

‘We have great sex and that’s it. I get it—of course I do. I mean…it works both ways… We’ve…um… Well, I’m not about to start dumping this on you and expecting you to do anything about it.’

Sergio banked down explosive rage.

‘When you say that you don’t expect me to “do anything about it”, what exactly do you mean?’

Her eyes flicked nervously across to him. What was he thinking? What was going through his head? His world had been turned upside down but at least he hadn’t shouted, or accused her of deliberately trying to pin him down. Given his experiences with his father’s second wife, he might have.

‘I mean this isn’t part of your life plan,’ she said. She stared down at her clasped fingers but could still feel his eyes pinned to her. ‘And you don’t have to think that you’re going to be lumbered with…with taking responsibilities you hadn’t banked on. As you may have noticed, my parents are pretty well off… I’ll manage financially…’

‘I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear what you just said,’ Sergio told her evenly. ‘And I’m going to get this back on track by pointing out a few things. The first is that you don’t know me at all if you think that I am the kind of man who sleeps with a woman and then walks away from a situation like this. The second is that my baby is my responsibility. I have no intention of handing that responsibility to your parents or any other member of your sprawling family, for that matter. Am I making myself clear on this?’

‘That’s fine,’ Susie whispered. ‘If you want to contribute financially, then I won’t say no. I just think it’s important for you to understand that—’

‘You’re not hearing me!’

Susie started, and stared at him nervously. ‘You want to…to help out with money. I understand.’

‘This is not just your deal. Whether I wanted this explosion in my life or not, it’s happened—and I intend to be a fully committed player in the game. I’m not just going to set up a direct debit to your account and visit as and when I can… Oh, no. And if you’re thinking along those lines, then you’ve completely misread the situation, Susie. Start the countdown, my darling. Whether either of us wants it or not, you’re about to become Mrs Burzi…’

CHAPTER SEVEN

SEVERAL WORDS LODGED in Susie’s head with dagger-like precision. Explosion. Player in the game. And finally, Whether either of us wants it or not…Mrs Burzi….

‘We’re both overwrought,’ she managed in a strangled voice. ‘You need a few days to take this in.’

She glanced wildly at the door and wondered whether she could make a sprint for it.

‘You’re not going anywhere, so you can forget eyeing the doorway like it’s the promised land, and I don’t need a few days to think about this. I’ve already thought about it and come up with the only possible solution.’

‘To marry you? That’s the only possible solution?’

‘What else?’

The sexy, teasing man she had fallen in love with had gone. In his place was this cold-eyed stranger, addressing her in a voice that could freeze water.

‘I take full responsibility for the mess we’ve ended up in. It’s the first time I have ever come close to any kind of lapse in taking precautions.’

‘You should hear yourself!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The mess we’ve ended up in…an explosion in your life…’ Tears stung the back of her eyes. ‘How can you be so…so…callous…?’

‘I’m not being callous.’ Sergio flushed darkly and continued to stare at her.

‘A few hours ago,’ she slammed into him bitterly, ‘you were dragging me in here so that you could make love to me…’

‘You weren’t protesting.’

‘I never said that I was!’ Her eyes flared and she held his stare with mutinous, stubborn persistence.

His change should come as no big surprise. He had never been in it for more than the sex and now his true colours were showing—because whether he magnanimously chose to take responsibility or not the fact was that circumstances had changed horrendously for him.

He wasn’t aiming to be callous. For him it was truly an explosion in his life—and a mess. It just wouldn’t occur to him that those words would be the last ones she might want to hear.

‘I don’t want to get into a huge argument with you,’ Susie told him wearily. ‘But I’m not going to marry you. And quite honestly I have no idea why you would want to marry me. Especially when you had such a dramatic “learning curve”, with your father marrying the wrong woman and then suffering for his mistake. Why would you want to marry the wrong woman?’

‘Circumstances are somewhat different in our case, wouldn’t you say? For a start, you aren’t decades my junior, and you didn’t actively seek me out so that you could extract money from me.’

‘That’s not what you thought when we first met! And you came here because you needed to satisfy yourself that you hadn’t made a mistake. No point taking unnecessary chances.’

‘It’s not going to further this situation if we keep delving into the past. That’s over and done with.’

‘It still doesn’t change the fact that I won’t marry you. We’re not living in the Dark Ages, Sergio. What would be the point of sacrificing our lives just because we happened to make a mistake? People make mistakes all the time, but it doesn’t mean that they condemn themselves to paying for it for the rest of their lives.’

Sergio took every single word that left her mouth as a personal affront.

Marriage had not crossed his radar in any way, shape or form…ever. Yet he knew that had he offered what he was offering now to any of the women he had dated in the past they would have bitten his arm off in their enthusiasm to accept.

Not only had she turned him down, she had done so without a hint of apology or remorse, and she had told him in no uncertain words that he was not up to scratch, not what she was looking for.

‘So tell me how you see this situation playing out?’ His voice was icy. ‘You remain living where you are? In a flat that is barely big enough for one person, far less two? With temperamental central heating and appliances that don’t work unless they feel like it? Do you envisage romantic times as a pauper, having to swaddle my baby in layers of clothes or risk frostbite? Or will you take up the other option of running back home to Mummy and Daddy and living under their roof for the foreseeable future? Because—and let’s be brutally honest here—your job won’t pay the way.’

‘I haven’t thought that far ahead,’ Susie said faintly. ‘Of course I know that it’s not going to be feasible to stay where I am…’

‘So the Mummy and Daddy option will come into play. Is that it?’

‘That’s not what I said!’

‘Then what exactly are you saying?’

‘As you know, my parents have an apartment in London…’ But she cringed at the thought of taking them up on what would be their inevitable offer. Probably not even an offer. They would insist.

She had spent too many years doing her best to maintain her independence, and somehow she just knew that if she caved in to parental pressure at this point—even well-intentioned parental pressure—she would fall into a trap from which it would be nigh on impossible to escape.

‘Over my dead body.’

‘We could work something out,’ Susie muttered, staring at the ground. ‘Okay, I accept that my job doesn’t pay enough…isn’t stable enough… And I…’ She swallowed painfully as a vision of her limited options raced through her head like the steel jaws of a trap, propelling her into a place she fought hard against. ‘I don’t want to run crying to my parents for financial assistance. It’s bad enough that they’re going to try and shove it down my throat the second they hear that I’m pregnant.’

‘They won’t do any such thing if they’re aware that you’re financially being taken care of by me.’

‘I don’t want to be taken care of financially by you!’ She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, opened them and stared at him without blinking. ‘I might not be one of life’s great financial successes but I’ve never wanted to rely on anyone. How do you think you’re going to feel when you’re stuck having to dole out money to me?’

‘Don’t worry about how I’m going to feel. I’m fully capable of handling my feelings. And, whether you want to rely on someone or not, you now don’t have an option.’

‘This isn’t how I saw my life going,’ Susie said quietly. ‘I always thought that I would find Mr Right and everything would be done in the correct order. Love…marriage…babies…happiness and contentment and growing old together…’

Instead, how had she ended up? Pregnant by a man who had only ever seen her as a bit of fun—a guy who felt condemned to do the honourable thing and marry her for the sake of a baby he hadn’t asked for.

Sergio’s jaw hardened. This was not what he wanted to hear. Anecdotes about her ideal life weren’t relevant, given the circumstances.

‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘what sort of life would we have together? This was always going to fizzle out sooner rather than later…’

There was a pause that lasted only a heartbeat as she foolishly prayed for him to jump in and announce that that would not necessarily have been the case. He didn’t. What had she expected?

‘And now you’re proposing we artificially sustain it so that we can be shackled together. In the end, don’t you think that you’ll resent me? Feel chained? Who wants to be a prisoner of their own good intentions?’

‘There’s no need to be dramatic.’ Sergio swept aside her speech with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Two out of three marriages end up in the bin, and they’re generally the ones that kick off with the starry-eyed belief that the good times will last for ever. A union that is approached from the point of view of a business arrangement stands a far better chance of lasting the course.’

‘And naturally this would be one of those “business arrangements”?’

‘Neither of us was braced for this situation, but now that it’s occurred we can’t indulge in regret and hand-wringing and it’s not helpful for you to dwell on what you would have ideally wanted. This may come as a shock, but it’s not an ideal world.’ He paused. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t make this work. You want to moan about chains and shackles? I don’t know how many chained, shackled prisoners fall into bed with one another and make love like tomorrow may never come…’

Inappropriately, he felt himself harden. The way she dropped her eyes and licked her lips nervously only served to accelerate the surge in his libido.

Susie couldn’t meet his eyes. Everything was unravelling at the speed of light and yet she couldn’t help herself—couldn’t turn off the full-frontal attack his proximity made on all her senses even as she resented his stupid assumption that sex might somehow make up for everything else that wasn’t there. Like love.

‘Why did you come back here with me?’ Sergio drove on remorselessly. ‘You knew you were pregnant but you didn’t come back here so that you could tell me and we could talk this out…’

‘I wanted… I don’t know…’ She backed away from an answer that would demonstrate just how powerful his effect on her was. ‘I shouldn’t have. I should have taken some time out to really get my head round this and then I should have approached you in a…a more neutral setting.’

‘By which you mean anywhere devoid of a bed? Why don’t you admit it, Susie? You came back here because you wanted to sleep with me. You wanted me to make love to you…to touch you in all those places you like being touched. Bit rich to talk about self-sacrifice and chains and shackles when you can’t wait to jump into bed with me, wouldn’t you agree?’

Susie squeezed her thighs tightly together. He made it sound so straightforward. A business arrangement with the added bonus of good sex.

Except she didn’t want a business arrangement, and good sex didn’t last for ever. If she married him she might get the guy she loved, but that didn’t mean she would end up with the guy of her dreams because those were two completely separate issues. The man of her dreams could only ever be the man who returned her love. What she would end up with would be a nightmare from which she would never be able to escape.

She would be trapped, loving him, and her love would make her desperate and clingy and needy—just the sort of woman he would end up despising. He would find excuses to work later and later, and eventually he would end up having an affair with someone like Alex…a clever, sophisticated woman who could hold his interest once the lust had gone. She, on the other hand, would be left at home to bring up the baby. She would spend half her time crying and the other half trying to regain his attention.

‘I should leave…’ she breathed defiantly.

‘You should be honest with yourself,’ Sergio returned with equal cool speed.

There were staring at each other in this difficult situation like combatants in a ring, but he could still feel the intense electricity between them, sizzling like a live charge.

‘The passion between us hasn’t waned because you’re carrying my baby. It’s a start.’

‘Passion fades—what then?’

‘We’re going to be having a child and I won’t be a part-time father. I’m not going to let someone else enter your life and slip into the role of being the man who’s there all the time, making the joint decisions, while I show up on a weekly basis trying to play catch-up.’

‘It wouldn’t be that way,’ she said uncomfortably. When she thought about some other man coming along and sweeping her off her feet her mind went blank.

‘And how are you going to feel down the line?’

‘I don’t know what you mean…’ She looked at him, confused.

‘When I find someone else…when she comes along with me on those weekly visits…gets to know our child, takes an interest, has input into my decision-making process…’

Susie felt the colour leave her cheeks. Of course he would find someone else. He wasn’t a man who would be inclined to spend too much time celibate. He was rich beyond belief, even more powerful, and it would be a matter of seconds before he became an object of pursuit.

She imagined what this fictitious pursuer would look like and it played on all the old insecurities she had—all the feelings of inferiority that she had spent a lifetime trying to put behind her. She would be hard as nails and ready to get stuck in when it came to all sorts of decisions that were none of her business. She would be a clever, brutally tall blonde, with a razor-sharp bob and a repertoire of hard and fast notions on how to bring up other people’s kids.

And she, Susie, wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. She certainly wouldn’t be finding solace in the arms of another man. No, she would be lurking in front of the television with the sound down, counting the minutes until her child was returned to her.

Furthermore, even if Sergio stepped up to the plate financially—which she knew he would, however hard she objected—he would still be a billionaire, able to afford anything and everything.

She had nightmarish visions of him buying up a toy store while she hovered in the background, clutching a bag of sweets and offering a trip to the park, hoping it proved a more successful lure.

‘Well?’ he prompted, snapping her out of her cruel reverie. ‘How is that scenario sounding?’

‘We can come to some kind of agreement on the financial side of things. As for the rest… Sergio, I’m exhausted. I’ve had this shock…on top of the wedding…I’m hardly thinking straight. I feel dead on my feet.’

He looked at her, seeing the dark circles under her eyes for the first time. He shot to his feet and then screeched to a halt in front of her.

‘Okay. You’re right. We can carry on this conversation tomorrow. Right now I can see you probably need to…relax…’

‘Relax?’ Susie grimaced. ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing any of that any time soon.’

‘Come back with me,’ he urged tersely. ‘You can’t possibly intend to return to that dump.’

‘“That dump” happens to be my home.’

‘Only because you’re too proud. Have you ever felt that it’s your home? Somewhere you look forward to getting back to every evening?’

No, Susie thought wearily. It was the sort of place any person would choose to avoid at all costs.

The enormity of her situation crashed over her like a tidal wave, ebbing away to leave in its wake feelings of despair and robbing her of her naturally upbeat optimism. She didn’t want to return to her parents who, however hard they tried, would not be able to resist the occasional observation on the direction her life had taken.

Lord help her if they found out that Sergio, the father of her baby, had proposed marriage—had offered her all the things most women in their right minds would accept with alacrity. For them, it would be a no-brainer. They would be shocked and appalled that she had turned him down.

‘That’s not the point…’

‘You moved there because you refused to accept help from your family, and I can understand that, but now isn’t the time for your pride to dictate your actions. You don’t only have yourself to consider. You have a baby to think about as well.’

‘And what do you suggest? I’m not going to marry you. Sex isn’t enough. Not for me.’

She wasn’t going to accept his proposal, he thought. There was no way he intended to contemplate a negative response to what he wanted, but at the moment reminding her of all the benefits that came as part of the package deal if she married him wasn’t going to work.

‘I’ll find you somewhere to live. I have a number of apartments in central London…but I’m thinking that they might be a little too close to the City for you.’

Thinking creatively and outside the box. Wasn’t that his speciality? There was always more than one way to secure your catch. He lowered his eyes, inclined his head to one side and gazed thoughtfully into the distance.

‘It would be a hassle for you, being in the centre of London,’ he mused. ‘In fact I’ll bet you find it pretty hectic even being where you are—and that’s away from the chaos of the City…’

‘It can feel a bit overpowering sometimes.’ She relaxed slightly. She didn’t want to argue with him. ‘I had to come to London for the work…’

‘Or you would have stayed out in the country? Growing up in Yorkshire must have acclimatised you to great open spaces…’

‘My parents told you where we lived?’

‘It must have come up in conversation.’

‘A lot seems to have “come up in conversation”…’ There was resignation in her voice rather than irritation, however.

It was obvious that her family hadn’t been able to be in the same space as him for longer than two seconds without divulging everything there was to divulge about her childhood. They were so desperate to hang on to the first guy she had brought home who wasn’t a loser. She wondered what other little stories they had come out with… Her first steps? First words? First crush on a boy at the age of nine?

But then they had believed that Sergio was a proper boyfriend, hadn’t they? Instead of a guy who wasn’t into making long-term plans and certainly wasn’t into love and marriage.

Sergio shrugged. ‘So here’s what I’m thinking…’

He leaned forward, all business now, and Susie looked back at him with guarded eyes.

‘You don’t want to marry me…and you’re right—I can’t force you. Naturally I believe that it is better for a child to have both parents, just as I believe that ours would be a union that stands every chance of working. We’re physically good together, and you can’t take away the fact that sex plays an intrinsic part in any relationship. However, if I cannot persuade you of that simple truth, then so be it.’

Having been on the roller-coaster ride of having him propose to her, she was now dazed at the sudden turn the ride had taken—and, if she was being honest, a little taken aback.

So much for his enthusiastic proposal. It hadn’t taken him long to fall in line with what she had said—that marriage would be a ridiculous sacrifice, way beyond the bounds of duty. Why didn’t she feel happier?

‘I’m glad you see where I’m coming from…’

‘I see it,’ he murmured. I just don’t accept it. ‘But back to what I was talking about…’

She focused, even though her mind was still whirring on a different plane.

‘I intend to find you somewhere a little further out.’ He raised his hand, as though predicting an interruption. ‘Still accessible to central London, but with more of a country feel. Richmond… Yes… Somewhere like that would do very nicely. Naturally you would want somewhere to carry on painting? That’s the good thing about what you do—you can work from the comfort of your home. No nasty commuter trips into London.’

‘You’re going to rent somewhere for me?’

‘Buy,’ he corrected. ‘I’ve always thought that renting is the equivalent of throwing money down the drain. And,’ he carried on quickly, because he could glimpse her pride beginning to make an unwelcome appearance, ‘it won’t just be for you. It will be for you and our child. It won’t be big or spectacular, so you needn’t start trying to put boundaries around what would and wouldn’t be acceptable to you.’

‘I wasn’t about to do that.’ Susie blushed and looked away. He knew her so well that it was scary. ‘Am I allowed to have a say in this house? Or do I get presented with it as a fait accompli?’

‘It’ll be a joint decision…what else?’

And in the meantime he was allowing her to carry on living in her little rented hovel.

Now that she was pregnant Susie realised just how awful a place it was. As a young, single person, she could weather all the drawbacks, but when she thought of bringing a newborn to the place she shuddered.

In the end she flitted between her parents’ house in Yorkshire and her London apartment. They had taken the news better than she had hoped—and, after what Sergio had said to her about misreading some of their reactions in the past, putting her own personal spin on situations that only existed in her head, she was accepting of that. She didn’t try to probe behind what they said, looking for hidden depths and meanings that weren’t there. She didn’t try to open up any cans of worms.

Besides, she didn’t seem to have the luxury of time on her hands to question and analyse and jump to conclusions.

She was busy looking for somewhere else to live and finding nothing. Busy trying to work out how her life was going to pan out with Sergio as a permanent part of it, but without the solid bond of marriage to glue them together. Trying to come to terms with the choices she had made because they were good choices.

He spoke to her every day, and usually several times. He insisted on visiting her at her place and made absolutely no move to try and coerce her into moving in with him. He respected her decision to take herself off to Yorkshire at a moment’s notice. If he resented her decision not to tell her parents that he had proposed, then he hid it well. He was a man who wasn’t emotionally involved—just doing the right thing because he had no choice.

And he kept his distance.

For the past seven weeks—ever since she had broken the news to him—he had not made any effort to touch her…except occasionally, in passing, the brush of his hand on her arm, his finger wiping something from the side of her mouth…little passing touches that sent her blood pressure into orbit and made her realise, with something bordering on utter misery, that she was the only one affected.

She didn’t even know what he did and with whom when she wasn’t around—when she was in Yorkshire, or back in her dingy flat trying to get her head round doing the illustrations for a job for which she had now been commissioned.

And of course she couldn’t ask, could she? She had taken their relationship to the level of business and he had fallen in. He was doing just what she had told him was acceptable—contributing financially and, frankly, being morally supportive—taking her out for the occasional meal, and once actually cooking something for her at her flat when she hadn’t felt like eating out. It had been a charade of domesticity that had cut her to the quick.

She had laid down her boundaries and he was simply respecting them.

So asking him if he was seeing anyone was totally out of the question.

But she wondered. He no longer wanted her. That physical urgency had disappeared. She thought that her changing body probably didn’t help.

She was still wondering now, as she stepped off the train onto a packed platform bustling with tourists and people going who knew where?

Spring had morphed into a lovely summer. Having had no morning sickness to speak off, she was now finding the hotter weather more difficult to deal with. She felt tired most of the time. Her breasts had shot up by two whole sizes and she hadn’t been exactly flat-chested to start with.

She had turned into a beach ball.

Suddenly demoralised, she dragged her pull-along case through the crowds, bumping into people and vaguely apologising while her thoughts whirled between Sergio and what he was doing, and with whom, and how she would react when she found out.

The glare of the sun was strong outside and she shaded her eyes for a few seconds, getting her bearings, pleased that she had decided to opt for a taxi rather than the Underground. She felt exhausted. Her parents, who now seemed to be around all the time, where before they had always been jetting off to some glamour spot or another, had fussed around her, trying their best to feed her up.

‘First grandchild for the Thornton line!’ Susie had heard her mother trill merrily down the line when she had been talking to her sister, Kate.

She was still away in her own little world, dragging her feet to the taxi rank, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and spun round, to find herself looking straight into Sergio’s dark sunglasses.

All at once her heart began to beat wildly and her body did all those things she was always telling it not to do whenever she was with him. Her pulses raced, her mouth went dry, her nervous system threatened to go into meltdown.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to collect you.’ He nodded to where Stanley was parked illegally by the kerb and simultaneously removed her bag from her clutches. ‘At least you’ve listened to me and decided against battling on the Underground, but I still think you should let Stanley drive you up when you want to visit your parents.’

She smelled of the sun and the countryside. He occasionally suspected that it was a smell he had become accustomed to because it seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

‘I might be pregnant but I can still travel very well by myself. Besides, it’s more convenient to get there on the train.’

When she had first discovered that she was pregnant and contemplated how he might react to the news she had foreseen a lot of things—but she hadn’t foreseen that he would rein in his natural need to control everything, to be the winner in the game…that he would bend to what she wanted.

He was considerate and he was nice. And the nicer he was, the more churlish she felt, and she had to stifle the inappropriate thought that she didn’t want nice, she wanted passionate.

He was being nice now, and all she wanted was to fling herself at him and feel those sexy, sensuous lips on her, feel his hands on her body. She missed that so much.

She stole a sidelong look at his clean, strong, chiselled profile and the sweep of raven-black hair combed away from his face. The sunglasses were still on and she couldn’t read the expression on his face.

She brushed past him, settling herself into the back seat of the car, and began chatting to Stanley, with whom she had struck up a pleasant friendship over the time she had known him. His two loves in life were cars and baking, and he began telling her about a new recipe he had tried for ciabatta bread.

‘Pipe down, Stanley,’ Sergio ordered. ‘How many times…?’

‘There’s some folk who are actually interested in what I have to say…sir!’

Sergio sighed heavily and his eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t prolong the conversation, instead smartly shutting the glass partition so that they were enclosed in a private cocoon in the back of the car.

‘That was very rude.’ Susie sat back and closed her eyes to block him out, but she was keenly aware of him with every pore in her body.

‘Stanley would be shocked if I was ever anything but. As a matter of fact there’s a reason why I showed up here to collect you, Susie.’

She turned to look at him, suddenly nervous. ‘What is it?’

Was he about to tell her that she had been replaced? That he was seeing someone else but not to worry, because he would still make sure she was financially taken care of…still make sure that he kept showing up to offer her support…because she was, after all, carrying his child.

A fact which he seemed to have taken on board with effortless ease. Although for all she knew he might spend every second on his own cursing the day he had invited her to sit at his table so that she could escape the horror of her blind date.

‘I have a surprise for you,’ he drawled, leaning against the car door.

‘I don’t like surprises. In fact I hate them.’

‘You’re going to like this one.’ He held her eyes steadily and smiled. ‘You’re now the proud owner of a house in Richmond—within spitting distance of the park…’

‘What?’

‘It’s time you cleared out of that hovel,’ Sergio told her bluntly, ‘and you’ve spent the past two months getting nowhere very fast.’

‘So you went behind my back and just…picked some random place to speed things up?’

‘I accelerated a process that wasn’t getting anywhere.’

‘And when did this process of acceleration begin, exactly?’

‘I spotted it a while back but it wasn’t yet destined for the market.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I made the owners an offer they found difficult to refuse, but I didn’t want to say anything because they could have backed out at any given moment.’

‘And now?’

‘And now, like I said, you own a house.’

‘You should have told me. You can’t just make big decisions like that without consulting me! I’ll probably hate it—what then?’ She was being horribly unfair, but he made her feel like a parcel in need of urgent delivery. He was just so…controlled and efficient…

‘If you do,’ Sergio said with infuriating calm, ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. And in the meantime…’

‘In the meantime…what?’

‘Try not seeing all the negatives.’

Left to her own devices, he wouldn’t have put it past her to dig her heels in, deliberately finding nothing so that she could head up to Yorkshire, far away from him and his intervention.

And he wasn’t having that. Oh, no. There was no way he was going to let her run away from him…

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘HOW ARE YOUR PARENTS?’

Sergio had seen them only once since the wedding. They had come down to London before leaving to go to Tuscany for two weeks. He had taken them out to the restaurant he owned—the very same restaurant where he had met their daughter. He had wined and dined them and no mention had been made of where he was going with Susie. With that well-bred reticence so typical of the upper classes they had steered diplomatically clear of any contentious subjects.

‘Fine.’

‘Have you mentioned our financial arrangements to them?’

‘I’ve said that you won’t be doing a runner,’ Susie told him vaguely.

Sergio frowned. ‘That’s not really good enough, is it?’

‘They understand that just because I’m pregnant it doesn’t mean that we’re going to be walking up the aisle.’

‘Even though I expect that is what they would like to see?’

She shrugged and held his stare. ‘I haven’t gone into lots of detail, but I think they understand that in this day and age people don’t get married because of an accidental pregnancy. They know that you’re…you’re…’

‘Not going to leave you in the lurch. But you haven’t mentioned the fact that you’ll be getting a house?’

‘I’ve said that I’m looking for somewhere more suitable to live once the baby’s born. They offered to get me somewhere, but I told them that you were insistent on getting involved in the financial side, so you needn’t worry that they don’t see you as a responsible person. They do.’

‘And I take it you haven’t mentioned that I asked you to marry me?’

‘Why would I do that when we’re not going to be married?’

It was the first time he had raised the subject for several weeks, and she wondered where she would be now if she had accepted his proposal. Would she now be Mrs Susannah Burzi? It was unfairly alluring and she pushed the thought aside—because if you weren’t embarking on a life of at least hopefully happily married bliss, then what was the point? She could never, would never, see marriage as a convenient arrangement.

Furthermore, she was still simmering at the thought of a house being bought behind her back, and was gearing up to finding fault—because what did he know about her tastes when it came to houses? He had only ever seen her in her ‘rented hovel’, as he liked to call it. His own apartment was the height of what money could buy, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she personally liked. Too clinical, too lacking in atmosphere.

She envisaged somewhere smart and modern…maybe in a discreetly upmarket estate.

Sergio didn’t say anything. With every passing day he could feel her withdrawal. The fire that had raged between them still managed to keep him up at night, but for her it was gradually being snuffed out—overtaken by events that neither of them had anticipated.

Occasionally, yes, he could feel the heat emanating from her, but often, like now, he could sense her blocking him out. More than anything else he wanted to shake her out of her retreat and return her to the land of the living—which included him.

Right now her profile was averted, her mouth set in a tight line. He fancied she might be silently cursing him for having found somewhere for her to live, thereby removing all possibility of her returning to the wilds of Yorkshire to take up residence on her parents’ sprawling country estate.

If they had given her a hard time things might have been slightly different, but they hadn’t. He had known from the very first second he had been introduced to Louise and Robert Sadler that their youngest daughter’s driving need to please them, her keen sense of being the least able of the crew, the one doomed to disappoint, was largely in her imagination.

She had grown up in the shadow of her enormously academic sister, and both her parents had likewise been hugely academic, gifted in their separate fields. From there had sprung Susie’s oversensitivity—which, in turn, had led her to misinterpret things her parents might have said in the past.

In fact they had absorbed the whole pregnancy deal with aplomb.

Hence he knew that whereas before she might have hesitated to ask for their help, things had subtly changed, and the lure of Yorkshire was a very real threat to his plans to get her to remain as close to him as possible.

He had debated informing her parents that he had proposed, and thereby really throwing the cat among the pigeons, but had regretfully discarded that option—because forcing a woman to do something she didn’t want to do would bring cheaply won and very short-lived success.

He might enjoy controlling situations, but he drew the line at being a complete fool.

‘You could make an effort to not look as though you’re being led to a torture chamber,’ he said drily, and Susie, who had been staring through the window, turned to look at him.

She wondered if the day would ever come when she would be able to look at him without melting inside. Probably not. And in the meantime the only thing that helped was to avoid looking at him as much as possible.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Thinking about what?’

‘Just about the illustration I’m doing at the moment,’ she lied. ‘It’s very intricate.’

Sergio thought that there was no reason for her to be hunched over an easel, working away at something that from what he could tell paid peanuts in the big scheme of things, but he kept that to himself.

‘No interest in hearing what the house is like?’ He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

‘It’s not going to make any difference, is it?’ she pointed out politely. ‘Considering it’s already been bought.’ She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, untangling small knots. ‘I know I should be grateful. You’ve been very good over all this. There are a lot of guys who would have been running for the hills a long time ago.’

‘And there are some who might have tried to force your hand when it came to the marriage situation,’ Sergio countered.

‘I suppose… Not that you can force someone to do something they don’t want to do.’

‘You’d be surprised how many men might dislike the thought of their child being born out of wedlock.’ His voice was grim.

‘That’s such an old-fashioned expression.’

But she didn’t like the thought of any child starting life on a conveyor belt, being shuffled between parents. Would she be blamed in the years to come? Would she end up being the villain in the piece? Her conscience stirred uneasily.

‘And it’s better than a child being torn apart between two warring, unhappy parents. Where are we?’

Busy streets had given way to more open spaces. The houses were spaced further apart. Up ahead she saw open fields and she sat forward, peering ahead.

‘Richmond Park stretches for miles around,’ he said, grimly and silently contemplating the reality that she saw any union between them as a potential battleground.

Susie was enchanted. You could almost forget that London was still accessible. She had been to a couple of parks, but generally the ones she had been to had been small and crowded. This stretched as far as the eye could see—a wilderness and yet still attached to the most vibrant city on the planet.

The car had slowed, was now manoeuvring through a series of roads that became smaller and smaller, until eventually they pulled up in front of a house that sat squarely in the middle of a well-tended garden.

‘We’re here,’ Sergio said, swinging out of the car as it pulled to a stop.

‘It’s…amazing…’

‘You sound shocked. What were you expecting? A smaller version of my apartment? No, don’t bother answering that. I can tell from the expression on your face that you were.’

He had the front door key, but first he wanted to show her the garden. They walked to the side and he led her to the back of the house, which was even more picture-perfect than the front. Overlooking the extensive open land of the park, the house gave an illusion of isolation that was seductive.

Fruit trees bordered a small, containable garden, in which a bench had been cleverly positioned so that the occupant would have unparalleled views of the parkland.

On cue, Susie strolled over and sat down.

‘It’s a little chilly out here,’ Sergio said after a few minutes. ‘Let’s go inside. You can see the rest of the house.’

She followed him and everything inside seduced her—from the cosy kitchen with its bottle-green Aga, to the quaint arrangement of rooms downstairs, each with its own personality but all of them warm and inviting.

‘Does this furniture belong to the owners?’ She ran her hands along the back of a sofa which was upholstered in colours of faded rose and cream.

‘No. I had it fully kitted out when the sale went through.’

Susie yanked her hand back as though it had been stung by a wasp. ‘So you chose the house and you chose the furniture as well?’

‘Do you like it?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Then what, exactly, is the point?’

He moved towards her and she stumbled a couple of paces back.

‘How long do you intend to maintain silent warfare between us, Susie? If that’s your way of trying to get rid of me through the back door, then rest assured that it’s not going to work.’

Susie licked her lips. In a desperate attempt not to find herself staring at him she turned her head. He firmly redirected it by dint of one finger on her chin.

‘I’m not… I… There’s no warfare between us…’

But that was how he would interpret her attempts to detach herself from him, even though they still gelled, still talked to one another…even though, when her guard was down, she always seemed to fall right back into him, enjoying his wit, his humour and his sharp, invigorating intelligence.

Their eyes tangled and hers dipped involuntarily to his mouth. She heard and felt the sharp intake of his breath and pulled back, heart beating fast.

For a second there…

If he touched her she didn’t know what she would do. She suspected the worst. She dreamt of his hands on her body and his mouth on hers. But everything was different now, and she refused to let herself slip back into letting her body rule her head.

‘I love all the stuff, Sergio,’ she said, regaining her composure and moving to admire one of the table lamps. ‘The colours are perfect. Very warm. Just my kind of style.’

Sergio, who was busy trying to subdue the sort of erection that ached to be touched, barely heard her.

‘Upstairs.’ His voice was harsher than he’d intended. ‘A quick look round and then we can leave. I have the keys and the house is ready for you to move in whenever you are.’

Susie took the hint. Whatever charge had sprung up between them it was one he wanted to kill as thoroughly as she did. Thinking that did something to her, made her feel sick, and she darted up the stairs, slowing down to take in all the bedrooms. Four of them. And at the very end…

She stopped dead in her tracks and gazed in wonder at the studio which overlooked the back garden and through which streamed light from windows that covered the expanse of nearly one wall.

‘Will it do?’

She turned to him and smiled shyly. ‘I have a studio…’

She explored every glorious inch of it while he stood by the door, his dark eyes following her every small movement. She loved the house but here, in this studio, she was like a kid in a candy shop.

‘The light’s absolutely perfect,’ she enthused, pausing to admire just how perfect it was by standing and staring out of the window. ‘And the workbench…the double sink…’ She admired both for a while. ‘I can put my easel just there…I won’t have to sit at that awful table with a light next to me, trying to get the colours right…’

‘Bad for a pregnant woman,’ Sergio agreed gruffly.

They’d been politely circling one another for so long now that he hadn’t realised how much he missed seeing her truly relaxed. He’d never wanted to kiss her as much as he did just at that moment. He was sick to death of being the good guy. He knew what the outcome of this situation should be and waiting to get there involved depths of patience he had never known he possessed.

She walked towards him and flung her arms around him in a hug.

A hug. He didn’t want a hug. He gently disengaged her, because if she pressed herself any closer to him he knew that he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened next. Just as he knew that what happened next would shatter the fragile relationship between them and send her on the first train back to Yorkshire.

Which was something he wasn’t going to allow.

He was playing a waiting game, and it was a game at which he had next to no experience. He was a man who got what he wanted, and gently going down different paths and exploring different avenues to get there was unheard of.

But it would be worth it.

She was having his baby, and she wasn’t going to disappear halfway up the country to bring it up without his input. He had no doubt that should she do that it wouldn’t be long before some man took an interest in her. She would be a mother, but she would also be so damned sexy that she took your breath away.

And in her search for Mr Right she wouldn’t be inclined to slam the door shut on any hopefuls, would she?

‘Yes. It is.’

Embarrassed at her enthusiastic response, which had not been returned, Susie exited the room with a final backward glance.

The atmosphere had changed. How, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She just knew that something had sprung up between them that threatened the control she had been working so hard to establish.

‘I take it you don’t loathe it, the way you assumed you would?’ This as they were back in the car, heading away from the house.

‘I thought it was going to be like your apartment.’

‘You’re telling me that you loathe my apartment?’ He kept his tone light but it was an effort.

‘It’s very, very impressive, but the more time I spent in it the more cold and clinical I found it…’

‘I had an interior designer take care of everything and it works for me. I’m seldom there.’

‘So who took care of furnishing the house?’ Susie asked curiously.

Sergio flushed. ‘Someone else.’

‘And you…supervised the whole thing?’

‘I had some input, yes.’

Startled, she said, ‘I can’t picture you going to a fabric shop and choosing what colour you wanted the curtains to be…or having a browse in a sofa shop for the right sofa… It used to take a lot of effort just getting you down to the local supermarket…’

‘But you have to admit,’ Sergio drawled, ‘that once I was there I was excellent when it came to getting what was needed.’

‘You were terrible. You never got anything that was actually necessary. You were always intrigued by weird ingredients and bright packaging. Like a kid.’

Had they reached that level of domesticity? How had that happened? When? How was it that he hadn’t noticed?

She hastily changed the subject. ‘I shall have to have a look around at the local shops. See what’s there and how I can get to them on public transport.’

‘Which brings me to the matter of you hopping on and off the tube or trying to hunt down a bus in winter. It doesn’t work.’

‘You mean I won’t be accessible by public transport?’ Susie asked, dismayed.

‘I mean I’m going to get you a car—and before you launch into a long speech about not needing one, you do, and the subject is non-negotiable. This is about doing what’s right for the woman who happens to be carrying my baby. To be blunt, the hassle of the Underground, the walk in winter to get there or to get to the nearest bus stop, and then the jostling, the crowds…unacceptable. You just need to decide what kind of car you want.’

‘A top-of-the-range Lamborghini…’ Susie said through gritted teeth.

Sergio burst out laughing. ‘Colour?’

‘I was joking.’

‘I wouldn’t have got you one. Impractical. If I’m in it with you, where would the baby go? On the roof?’

‘I actually hadn’t anticipated you being a passenger in my car,’ she said tersely, eyes narrowed at the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Why would I be giving you a ride somewhere?’

‘Who knows?’ He gave one of those elegant gestures that were so typically foreign, so typically him. ‘What if you suddenly decide that you want company at a supermarket?’

‘That won’t be happening!’ And stop playing with me!

She pictured them browsing the aisles while he flung in exotic stuff that she instantly removed and returned to the shelves. Her heart twisted. Somewhere deep inside her she wondered whether she had been lulled into imagining that he felt more than just lust for her because she had had those little glimpses of pure happiness…

For him, it had stemmed from nothing more significant than the fact that he wanted her in his bed, and if the occasional supermarket shop came as part of the deal then he would oblige.

While for her those little things had been the building blocks cementing a relationship that had taken over her life.

‘I suppose a car would be useful,’ she conceded—partly because it was true, but mostly because she knew that he would end up getting his own way on this score anyway. ‘But something small and second-hand.’

‘I don’t do second-hand.’

This elicited a snort from Stanley in the front, and Sergio immediately slid the glass partition shut—though only after he had told his driver to concentrate on what he was being paid to do instead of eavesdropping. ‘But I can do small.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And there’s no time like the present.’

‘You’re going to buy me a car today?’

‘What’s the point in putting it off? The house is ready. You can move in tomorrow if you choose. You’ll need a car as soon as you’re installed.’

By six that evening she was the owner of a brand-new shiny black five-door hatchback. A top-of-the-range, all-dancing, all-singing hatchback, fully loaded with everything from satnav to air conditioning.

‘A house and a car,’ she admitted to her mother as she lay curled up on the saggy sofa in the depressing little room which she and Sergio had jointly agreed she would vacate the following day.

‘How very decent of him,’ Louise Sadler said, in her usual understated manner. ‘I somehow got the impression that he was prepared to support you financially, but personally finding a house he thought you would like…’

‘It’s nothing at all like that, Mother,’ Susie rushed in hastily.

To the outsider it might seem beyond the call of duty, but she knew better. She had seen just how overwhelmingly obliging he could be when something was personally at stake for him.

Supermarket shopping, which he loathed, to placate her because he wanted her in his bed.

A house he knew she would like because she was having his baby, and there was no way he was going to let her remain in the hovel or, worse, retreat up to Yorkshire, miles away from his sphere of influence. Not with his child. No way.

‘The car—yes, I can fully understand that, darling. You really would need something to get around in. But you’re telling me that he chose all the fittings for this dream house of yours…?’

‘He employed someone to choose all the fittings. He just gave them some vague idea and allowed them to run with it. You can do that when money is no object. And I never said that it was my dream house,’ she pointed out, gazing at the keys to the house, which lay on the sofa next to her. ‘My dream house would never be in London.’

‘Well, he’s been very perceptive, managing to locate something in London that gets close…’

‘Luck.’

‘It took Daddy and I ages to find the flat…’

‘We don’t have the sort of relationship where he pops down to the estate agency so that he can sit with them and look through glossy brochures of houses for me,’ Susie said heavily.

She felt that it was time to address certain assumptions before they could blossom into huge inaccuracies.

‘Sergio and I had lots of fun, Mother, but it would have fizzled out if this…this situation hadn’t occurred…’

There was a telling silence down the line and old feelings of being a let-down, a crashing disappointment, swept over her—even though she had had a chance to re-evaluate the accuracy of those feelings. Old habits died hard, she thought, chewing her lip and waiting for her mother to break the awkward silence.

‘That’s how it is these days,’ said Louise Sadler eventually, and sighed. ‘Nothing’s perfect, my darling. As long as you feel able to cope as a single mother, then that’s the main thing.’

‘You mean it, Mum?’

‘I most certainly do. I…we…are very proud of you and the way you’re handling this unexpected situation. You’ve been plucky and strong. You’re a little soldier.’

‘I am?’

‘Of course you are,’ her mother asserted briskly. ‘You’ve put your heart and soul into doing what you wanted to do, you haven’t accepted any help from either me or your father, and you’re soldiering on…working…making sure you maintain your independence. I’ll wager you’re not accepting anything from Sergio without a fight.’

Susie laughed, feeling on a high. ‘I make noises,’ she confessed. ‘You know it sticks in my throat having to accept his help. But if Sergio decides to do something it’s impossible trying to stop him. Honestly, he’s the human equivalent of a steamroller!’

‘Quite…’ her mother said after a pause. ‘I expect it’s what you need to be if you’re to reach the giddy heights that he has…’

Buoyed by her conversation with her mother, Susie had a good night’s sleep and awoke the following morning to the insistent ring of her doorbell.

She didn’t bother to check the time. Instead she dragged herself out of bed and padded to the door, flinging on a dressing gown over the nightie that clung to her newly rounded body.

She pulled open the front door and there he was, in all his drop-dead gorgeous, magnificent glory, finger poised to ring the bell one more time.

She yawned. ‘What time is it?’

Still drowsy, Susie swept her hand through her tangled hair and stared at Sergio, who looked unfairly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed while she felt as though she still needed a few more hours’ sleep in order to face the day.

‘Gone nine-thirty. Have you forgotten that you’re moving in to the house today?’

His voice sounded normal, but Sergio was feeling far from normal. He had seen the change in her body only through layers of baggy clothes. Now she was standing in front of him, flimsy bathrobe hanging open, and an even flimsier nightdress revealing everything he had not been able to see properly before.

Lust hit him hard, knocking him for six. Her belly was rounded, her breasts fuller, and through the thin fabric he could easily glimpse the outline of her nipples, bigger and darker, poking against the cotton.

He discovered that his breathing was laboured. He wanted to shut the door behind him and propel her to her bed and…take her. It was a primitive caveman instinct that was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life before. The desire for possession roared through him and he raked his fingers through his hair and shifted restlessly on his feet.

He had to look away.

‘I hope this isn’t the way you answer the door to whoever happens to ring your doorbell,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘You need to cover yourself up.’

Or he’d have to excuse himself to use her bathroom, so that he could relieve himself of his massive, throbbing erection.

That was like a bucket of cold water being poured over her and Susie woke up fully, recognising her state of undress and yanking her dressing gown tightly around her.

She hadn’t thought! She’d been so sleepy that it hadn’t occurred to her that she was on show—in all her new body glory! And judging from his reaction he couldn’t have been less turned on by the sight.

Mortified, she stepped back to let him pass and excused herself hurriedly so that she could change.

She flung on anything—baggy jogging bottoms and a loose sweater with a vest underneath, warm socks and her trainers—and reappeared to find him staring through the window.

‘I’m sorry.’ She was tense as he slowly turned round to look at her. ‘I overslept. I planned on setting the alarm but I must have forgotten… I seem to spend half my life forgetting things these days!’

She could feel the tension in the air between them and wanted to tell him that he could relax, that she wasn’t about to jump on him.

Sergio was having difficulty getting words out. ‘No problem.’

‘I did manage to pack some stuff,’ she continued into the awkward thick silence. ‘Not that there’s that much to pack… I have a suitcase filled with clothes, but I think I might just leave my bits and pieces of crockery here. No point taking them, is there?’

Silence.

‘Are you…all right? You look a bit pale.’

‘We should go—get you in. You can have the day then…to settle in. I…I’ve made sure that there’s food…some basics…’ He had become a stuttering idiot. He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘You—you shouldn’t have,’ Susie stammered.

‘It’s no big deal.’

Sergio recovered his composure slowly. The good news was that breathing was now possible.

‘You need to rest. You can’t be hopping into a car every two seconds to go down to the shops.’

He grabbed the case on the floor and gave a cursory glance round the room, which looked even more dilapidated now, if that was possible.

‘I’m thinking you should paint until you feel tired, then rest.’

‘I’ll be the size of a beached whale if I do that. A pregnant woman needs a little exercise or else the pounds pile on.’

He didn’t say anything, but from where he was standing the piling on of the pounds seemed to be increasing her sexiness—not diminishing it.

Now that she knew where they were heading Susie took the time to appreciate the joy of getting out of the packed streets and never-ending noise.

For once, Stanley wasn’t driving.

‘A week’s holiday doing a baking course in Devon,’ Sergio explained. ‘The man never fails to amaze me. He’s moved effortlessly from a life of breaking into cars to a life of breaking into recipe books.’

Because he had you as his mentor, was the thought that sprang instantly into her head.

The house was as delightful second time round as it had been the first time. More so, if anything. The garden seemed bigger, more abundantly landscaped, and as she stepped into the house the furnishings that she had skimmed over in her confusion at being there were more homely, warmer, more welcoming than she remembered.

He hadn’t been lying when he had said that some shopping had been done. The cupboards were full—as was the fridge.

‘I’ll send my man back to your house to get the rest of your things.’

‘There’s nothing, really. Like I said, I’ve packed my clothes and my art stuff…and the few knick-knacks my parents gave me to make the place a little less… What’s left are just some stupid posters and bric-a-brac I bought to make the place less…less…’

‘Vile? Disgusting?’

The corners of her mouth twitched and unconsciously she placed her hand on her stomach. ‘Maybe…’

He knew those knick-knacks. They were the anomalies in her flat that had first made him suspect her of not being who she said she was—the expensive little things that had seemed to prove her a liar, the lingering question mark that had finally driven him to that wedding.

‘Why don’t you stay…have something to eat…some lunch…? I mean, you’ve stocked the cupboards…it’s only fair… Of course you must be busy… In which case…’

She met his gaze and instantly her body sprang into life. Her nipples tightened into aching peaks, her legs turned to jelly and a deep pain began in her pelvis…spreading until she was melting. He was looking at her with such intensity…

Giddy, she leaned against the wall, as weak as a kitten.

‘You don’t want me to stay, Susie.’

‘What are you talking about? I just asked you, didn’t I?’

Very slowly he walked towards her, and the closer he got the more helpless she felt.

‘If I stay…I’m going to have to touch you…’

‘What do you mean?’ She hated herself for asking that, because the answer was written in the intensity of his gaze.

‘You’ve changed… Your breasts have become bigger…’

‘It’s the pregnancy,’ she said weakly.

Dangerous conversation. It played to her weakness and she knew she should resist, should say something funny or sarcastic, but all she could think was, God, you’re beautiful, and I want to make love to you more than anything else in the whole world…

Looking at her, Sergio knew that he could have her. Right now, right here. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be able to make it up the stairs. But what would that prove? Nothing. And what would follow in the aftermath of that?

Marriage might be out of the question, but was he going to blow their fragile truce by stampeding her into bed like someone who had zero control? He had built his life on control, and he knew it was the most powerful ally anyone could have.

But, God, his whole body was aching. He wanted to reach out and slip his hand under the jumper, wanted to feel the weight of her breasts, wanted to push that jumper up and suckle on engorged, enlarged nipples, bigger and darker now that she was pregnant.

And he wanted to taste her down there, get his fill of her, and then come inside her without the nuisance of protection.

‘I won’t stay for anything,’ he said abruptly. ‘I should go. Is there anything else you need?’

Her body cooled and she stiffened in receipt of a rebuttal he wasn’t even bothering to dress up.

‘Nothing. And you’re right. Silly of me to have asked you to stay. You’re right—so right… You should head off…’

CHAPTER NINE

SUSIE’S FIRST THOUGHT when she felt a cramping in her stomach was to ignore it. Firstly, she didn’t want to overreact and be labelled a hysterical hypochondriac by the hospital into which she had been booked. Secondly, Sergio had just left and she didn’t want to summon him back on what would probably be a fool’s errand.

Things had been ticking along between the two of them for the past four months.

The bigger she’d grown, the more she had tried to hide her body under an ever-changing assortment of shapeless clothes. He had rebuffed her that one time, and she wasn’t going to risk falling into the trap of thinking that he might still find her sexy. He didn’t. Somehow wearing attractive maternity clothes or, worse, non-maternity clothes with a high, stretchy Lycra content, would have made her feel vulnerable. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable. Not on top of everything else she was having to deal with—namely the fact that her feelings towards him hadn’t lessened in the slightest over time.

He wasn’t around all the time, but he was around too much. He telephoned her every day without fail. She assumed to make sure that she hadn’t fallen down the stairs in a state of pregnant idiocy. And he showed up every weekend, and usually once or twice during the week. Sometimes just for a cup of coffee, and to make sure that everything was working properly in the house. Occasionally he swept aside her objections and made her go out with him for a meal.

Every second in his presence was sweet torture. She wanted to step back, had braced herself with little lectures on the healing aspect of his frequent visits, told herself that the more she saw him the easier it would get to be in his company without feeling the need to find some smelling salts just in case she came over dizzy and passed out.

But none of her mini-lectures had worked and she was just as susceptible to his presence as she had been from the very first second she had laid eyes on him.

While he… He did everything befitting a man whose sole concern was the welfare of his unborn baby.

He had made sure to employ a gardener, so that she wouldn’t have to do anything remotely manual for herself outside, even though she’d tried to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. He roamed through the house, making sure that everything was working, that no lights needed changing—presumably because the thought of her actually getting onto a ladder to change a lightbulb was far too risky.

He treated her like delicate porcelain and she hated it—because it was a parody of domesticity when she yearned for the real thing. She longed for the days when he hadn’t been able to look at her without wanting her…when he hadn’t been able to be in the same room as her without touching her, and when the sight of a bed had always led to a passionate, inevitable outcome. She wanted his attentiveness to be for her, and not just because she was a vessel for his baby.

Her whole body yearned for his touch. She couldn’t imagine how much of a turn-off she must be for him now, with her prominent belly and her pregnant waddle, and her assortment of unappealing clothes which, as the weather had become increasingly colder with the approach of winter, were all in various shades of black or grey.

And she still wondered whether there was another woman in his life—some frisky lawyer he was keeping under wraps because he didn’t want to unsettle her.

Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the question out of her. She wasn’t sure whether it was because there was no way she would let him see just how deeply her feelings for him ran, like an underground torrent waiting to burst through given the slightest opportunity, or whether she feared how she would feel if he ever confirmed her suspicions.

She clung to the thought that once the baby was born they would be able to formalise some kind of arrangement. She would no longer need supervision as the woman carrying precious cargo and they would be able to work out visiting rights—a loose arrangement which would give her the freedom to get on with her life without him constantly intruding.

A sudden sharp twinge made her wince and she looked uncertainly at the mobile phone on the sofa next to her.

It was dark and cold outside, and a brisk wind was whipping a sharp drizzle against the windowpanes.

Inside, it was cosy and warm. Another twinge drove her from the sofa and she breathed deeply, tried to stay calm, because the baby wasn’t due for another two and a half months and she didn’t want to start panicking over every little twinge.

Neither did she want to ignore something that could be serious…

With a stifled gasp as another sharp pain in her stomach drove her from the sofa, she picked up the telephone and dialled through to Sergio. Just hearing his voice when he answered filled her with strength, and for a few seconds she almost regretted calling him.

‘It’s probably nothing…’ she began.

About to manoeuvre across a roundabout, Sergio swung the car left, heading away from his apartment. He had picked up the fear in her voice with an ease that surprised him—although why it should, he had no idea. He seemed able to read nuances in her in a way he had never been able to with any other human being in his life before.

‘What’s probably nothing?’

‘You’re annoyed that I called, aren’t you?’

‘I’m annoyed that you’re not telling me why you’ve called, but it doesn’t matter because I’m already on my way and I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.’

‘No rush,’ she managed through gritted teeth, knowing that he would rush. And in under fifteen minutes she heard the urgent ring of her doorbell.

‘Tell me,’ he commanded, staring down at her pale face and the brave smile she had pinned on it. Fear tore inside him. ‘Okay, tell me on the way to the hospital.’

‘There’s no need…’

‘I’ll come back for that bag you packed. Come on.’

He was at his finest. Strong, calm…utterly in charge of the situation and knowing exactly what to do. She felt safe.

‘Talk to me,’ was the first thing he said once they were both in the car.

For the first time he wished that he had bought her somewhere with less of the illusion of being in the country and more of the reality of being in the hub of things—maybe even next to a hospital.

‘I… Just a bit of pain,’ she said faintly. ‘My stomach.’

‘Contractions? Like Braxton Hicks?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I thought it might be a good idea to do some background research,’ Sergio told her gruffly.

She stared at his fierce averted profile in amazement.

‘It’s not that big a deal,’ he asserted, without glancing in her direction. ‘I like to know what I’m dealing with.’

‘I don’t know what it is, Sergio,’ she whispered, ‘but it just doesn’t feel right.’

‘Don’t talk,’ he urged in a low voice. ‘Try and breathe evenly. The last thing you want to do is hyperventilate because you’re panicked. I’m sure it’s nothing to be unduly concerned about.’

‘They hate you doing this.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Susie leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She was doing as he had told her to do, breathing evenly and thinking calming thoughts.

‘The hospital. They hate it when you show up and they have to send you away again because it’s a stupid false alarm. They’re always rushed off their feet. It’s a waste of their time when they have to pander to some pregnant woman who gets twitchy at the slightest…ouch…cramp…’

‘No one would dare send me anywhere unless I was ready to go.’

He rested his hand on hers and gave a gentle squeeze, and she blinked back a flood of tears because right now she just loved him so much she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

This felt so much like the real thing that she could almost believe it was.

‘We’re nearly there,’ he said, removing his hand and leaving a cool, empty space where it had been.

Busy with trying to stave off the bursts of abdominal pain, Susie was actually only aware that they had arrived when the car stopped and she opened her eyes to find that he had pulled up right outside the hospital entrance. From then on, everything seemed to move very quickly.

He took charge. People obeyed. Nurses who were accustomed to giving orders fell into line with mesmerised obedience. A consultant was summoned.

‘I should have made you go private,’ he muttered at one point through gritted teeth. ‘I should never have let you talk me into using the NHS…’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s as good as…probably better…’

‘You’re as white as a sheet.’

‘I…I’m a little scared, to be perfectly honest…’ she admitted.

Voicing the fear suddenly made her realise that she was, in fact, terrified. What if she lost the baby?

Being established in a bed in the hospital, with people rushing around and someone urgently gathering the necessary team to do a scan in order to establish what was happening, really brought home to Susie just how much a part of her present and her future this unborn baby had become.

Sergio had temporarily disappeared, and a new and scary thought hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.

If she lost this precious possession, then he would disappear from her life faster than a speeding bullet.

There would be no need for him to stick around.

She would return the house she had fallen in love with, pack her bags and leave—because even though the house was in her name he would want it back. Why wouldn’t he? It had been bought for his child, and for her as an afterthought.

She looked at him feverishly when he reappeared a few minutes later. She would have to make it clear that she understood the ramifications of what was happening and what might happen given a worst-case scenario.

‘They’re ready for you—and don’t look so terrified.’ He slanted a crooked smile at her. ‘It’ll be just fine.’

Susie nodded dumbly. And if it’s not?

‘It may not be,’ she mumbled unsteadily. ‘There are a thousand different things that could go wrong.’

‘It isn’t helpful to start looking for everything that could go wrong. Let’s just hear what the consultant has to say. We’ll know better how things stand once they scan you.’

Sergio was realising that he had lived a charmed life, casually assuming that whatever he wanted, he would get. The life of someone in complete control. He was realising that he had never felt afraid. He was feeling afraid now. She didn’t have to tell him about all the things that could go wrong. He knew them all. He had done more than peruse that book he had bought. He had read it from cover to cover and could have written a thesis on mishaps that might occur.

‘I can’t help it,’ Susie whispered. He had taken her hand in his and his fingers curled reassuringly around hers. ‘I meant to ask you something…’

‘What?’

Where the heck were these people? Shouldn’t they be rushing around, taking care of this situation? Instead of slacking off at some workstation somewhere, gassing and telling jokes?

He forced down a sudden surge of anger and held on to what the consultant had told him: that in the absence of bleeding there was almost certainly no need to worry, that they would move as quickly as they could but that several unexpected emergencies had recently occurred, ensuring that all the available rooms for scanning were occupied.

‘Have you found someone else?’

For a few seconds Sergio was dazed by the irrelevancy of that question, but she was staring at him with wide-eyed earnestness, waiting for an answer.

‘Where the heck did that come from?’

‘It’s just something that’s been playing on my mind,’ she said, breathing unevenly. ‘And, while we’re on the subject, I just want you to know that if you have there’s no need to try and hide it from me.’

And no need for him to feel any responsibility or pity towards her if this pregnancy failed. Her thoughts were chaotic, but she had a sudden, pressing urge to make him understand that.

‘This is not the time or the place to be having a nonsensical conversation like this,’ Sergio told her roughly. ‘Just concentrate on staying calm and optimistic.’

‘I’m very calm and optimistic.’

‘You’re the most infuriatingly stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I don’t suppose you’re going to put this conversation to rest until I give you an answer, so I might as well oblige. Even though you do pick the most ridiculous moments to launch into your “Meaningful Conversations”…’

But maybe this was her way of distracting herself from negative thoughts about losing the baby—who was he to argue with her? He wasn’t the one lying on a narrow, hard bed waiting for a scan…

He ran his fingers through her fine, silky, unruly hair and then cupped her face in a curiously tender gesture that made her feel as weak as a kitten.

‘When the heck do you imagine I would have the time to find another woman?’ he asked.

‘Is that a no?’

‘It’s a no.’

‘Because it’s okay—you’re a free man,’ she pressed on feverishly.

‘I get what you’re saying.’

‘I hope so, Sergio. Because if…if…’

Her voice wobbled, and there was no chance to say what she felt she had to say because they were interrupted by the arrival of a brisk nurse and the consultant. In the doorway, another nurse was waiting at the ready.

A room was now vacant but would not be for long, they were told on their way down in the lift.

‘Never rains but it pours,’ the consultant said wryly. ‘Three heavily pregnant women with sudden complications and a couple of tricky caesareans—in addition to the usual range of deliveries. And Siamese twins tomorrow.’ The consultant’s face brightened at the prospect of that. ‘You might have read about it recently? Right… Here we are… Nothing at all to worry about, Miss Sadler…’

He patted her hand kindly as she was transferred to a bed in the darkened room, but his attention was already on the scanning machine, caught up in the routine of what he needed to do.

Susie was keenly aware of Sergio next to her as she was prepped for the scan. She had not allowed him to go with her to any of her appointments. She wasn’t sure why, but somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that it would have felt like another little surrender to the overwhelming love she felt for him. She had to keep some precious distance between them—had to preserve a little bit of neutrality or else get completely lost.

And she had always made sure to keep herself well covered. In fairness, she had increased in size, but not dramatically. But now, as her gown was opened so that the scan could begin, she was acutely conscious of the body she had so carefully hidden from him over the past few months.

She sneaked a glance at him and he caught her eyes in the darkened room and held them.

Now that she was lying on this bed it dawned on her that her pains had subsided considerably. Typical.

He leaned down so that he was speaking quietly into her ear. ‘Stop thinking and just focus on the scan, Susie.’

Susie reddened and looked away. She stared at the monitor and tried hard to ignore her protruding, rounded belly.

Sergio, his gaze firmly fixed on the screen which had now been swivelled in their direction, marvelled that he could counsel her to stop thinking when he himself was caught up in a series of unwelcome thoughts.

What the heck did she mean by telling him that it was perfectly okay for him to entertain another woman? Was it her way of reminding him that she, likewise, was entitled to the freedom to entertain other men?

His eyes dropped briefly to her stomach, his first glimpse of her changed body, and possessiveness ripped through him.

She wouldn’t look at another man now, but what about after the baby was born…?

She was swollen with his child—was she already contemplating the prospect of getting back into shape and meeting his replacement?

No. He refused to entertain that notion. Not here and not now.

He fixed all his attention on the picture presenting itself on the monitor and forgot all about the nagging anxieties playing at the back of his mind as the consultant took them through everything they were looking at—including the strong heartbeat which announced that everything was all right and there had been nothing to worry about after all.

‘Always a good idea to get to hospital if you feel anything out of the ordinary,’ he said kindly when, half an hour later, the lights were switched on and the gown, thankfully, was put back over her stomach.

‘I panicked,’ Susie confessed.

‘Perfectly understandable,’ the consultant told her. ‘But everything seems to be in order. I should take it easy for the remainder of your pregnancy, though. Is there anyone staying with you—?’

‘I’ll be there,’ Sergio interrupted, and Susie looked at him, open-mouthed.

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to in order to know exactly what she was thinking. That she wanted to preserve her independence and having him living with her under the same roof would be an appalling prospect.

Tough.

The consultant, already glancing at his watch, thinking ahead to his next appointment, was nodding and filling them in on the importance of making sure that she took it easy, didn’t do anything that required too much exertion. Telling them that everything was fine, but that the human body had a cunning way of letting people know when things might be wrong.

And then, as fast as they had been swept up in the drama of the moment, they were on their own—free to leave the hospital.

‘What did you mean when you told the consultant that you would be staying with me?’ Susie asked abruptly.

For a while, when she had been focusing on the grainy little image of the baby, she had been wholly consumed, but now she was back to her anxious thoughts. She folded her arms and stared at him.

He might not have found someone else yet, but he would sooner or later—and how was she going to build up the strength to deal with that if he now intended to move in? She needed respite from his suffocating presence! The last thing she needed was to have him around all the time, reminding her that their relationship was not really a relationship.

But of course he would want to move in. Anything to protect his unborn child.

‘Before we start on this conversation,’ Sergio said, anticipating her mulish rejection of his offer, despite what the consultant had said, ‘let’s do the next patient a favour and vacate the room. We can talk about it on the way back to your house—and before you tell me that you’re fine, and that there’s no need for me to drop you home, forget it.’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘Good. In that case, apologies for wrongly jumping the gun. And instead of thinking about my staying with you, and getting hot and bothered about the prospect, maybe we should both be happy that everything’s okay?’

‘Of course I’m happy.’ Susie flushed, aware that he was right. ‘Overjoyed. Even though I still feel like an idiot for rushing down here.’

‘Like Mr Wilkins said, it’s good to not take chances.’

‘He was being polite.’

Heading towards the exit, Sergio controlled a frustrated smile. She always had an answer for everything. No one could ever accuse her of not being an everlasting source of challenge. If he pointed to the sky and told her that it looked blue, she would, given the right mood, argue that it was yellow, and she would continue arguing until she got bored and abandoned the conversation.

He had long ago congratulated himself on having reserves of patience that far surpassed anything he might have expected. Especially since now that she was pregnant she could be prone to being argumentative about nothing in particular.

‘He’s probably cursing at having to waste his precious time,’ she rambled on, taking her time as she manoeuvred herself into his car. ‘Pandering to a hypochondriac…’

As soon as they were both in the car, and he was slowly threading his way through the car park out into the busy road, she turned to him.

‘I realise, Sergio, that you’re worried I might end up back in hospital because I’ve done something to overtire myself, but there’s no cause for concern. I really am going to take things easy.’

‘What do you mean, you really are going to take things easy? I thought you already were?’

‘I’ve recently been doing some spring cleaning…’

‘Spring cleaning a new house? What the heck is there to spring clean?’

‘I brought some pictures down from Mum and Dad’s house a couple of weeks ago,’ she said vaguely. ‘I’ve had a burst of energy lately so I’ve been putting them up here and there. In my studio and such. You know… Getting things homely.’

Sergio raked fingers through his hair and spared her a glance of pure frustration. ‘Did that involve climbing on ladders?’

‘Pregnant women climb on ladders all the time! In fact it’s practically all they do.’

‘And have you been eating when I haven’t been there?’

Accustomed to living a life of complete independence—a life of frankly not giving a damn what other people thought of him—he was brought up short at the way it had been whittled away at the edges ever since she had announced that he was going to be a father. On the other hand, strength lay in the ability to adapt. He had adapted. It was a means to an end.

‘Of course I have.’

But in between the sudden burst of spring cleaning energy and tying up the final bits of her commission she realised that food had taken a back seat. Or at least robust meals had—because when she was on the go crackers and cheese or sandwiches were always a faster option.

‘I’ll be moving in tomorrow. You’ve been overdoing things. And you may be prepared to take chances but I’m not. Let’s get something clear right now. This isn’t just about you. You’re going to have to deal with that whether you like it or not.’

‘But it’s not necessary for you to move in!’

‘I’ll drop you back home and you can get some sleep. I’ll be with you first thing in the morning to make sure that you eat your breakfast.’

‘And do you intend to take time off work to supervise my lunches?’

‘Now that you mention it, I can work from the house—so, in answer to your question, quite possibly. You want to behave like a child, then expect to be treated like one, Susie.’

‘I haven’t been behaving like a child and I don’t want you around all the time, getting under my feet!’

Was that what he thought? That she was like a kid who needed to be told which road to follow because she was too simple to choose the right one? She hated the thought that she had gone from being the woman he wanted to someone he felt he had to look after. All his consideration for her over the past few months, she thought, had removed her sexuality.

‘Too bad.’ Sergio’s voice hardened. ‘Needs must.’

They drove the remainder of the way in silence. It was a quick drive, because at this hour the roads were clear. She knew that he would see her into the house, as indeed he did, and all the while she thought about him being there with her, living with her, sharing space with her, sitting in the little snug with her watching television.

She thought about the way they had been with one another before her pregnancy had forced him to put things into perspective. And then immediately her thoughts turned to when she had been lying on that narrow, uncomfortable bed in that room, being scanned, her stomach exposed to his gaze.

What had been going on in his mind then? Relief that they were no longer lovers? Impatience that he had had to come to the rescue because she was not independent enough to look after herself? Frustration that he had embarked on a light-hearted fling with someone out of his comfort zone just because he had liked her novelty value, only to find himself trapped with her for ever? Was he being forced to have her as an ongoing concern because of a child he hadn’t wanted in the first place?

‘So what time shall I expect you in the morning? Perhaps you could let me know how this arrangement is going to pan out?’

She contemplated him lurking in the house, materialising from dark corners, turning her on and distracting her, treating her like someone who couldn’t look after herself. Treating her the way her parents and her sister treated her. When she thought like that she felt sick.

‘Here’s how it’s going to pan out.’ Sergio looked at her evenly. ‘I’m going to set up camp in the downstairs den. There’s a desk there already. It’ll do for when I want to use it. I’ll transfer over my desktop computer so that I have both my desktop and my laptop handy, and I’ll arrange for a dedicated line to be put in so that you won’t be plagued with calls coming through for me on your landline—although I can use my mobile well enough. How’s it sounding so far?’

‘Constricting,’ Susie said with utter dejection.

He frowned at her. ‘You have the night to get used to the prospect.’

‘I’ve become accustomed to peace and quiet.’

‘I’ll make sure not to play my trumpet too loudly. You’ll thank me when this baby is delivered fat and healthy.’

And then? she thought. What happens then? She would have become accustomed to having him around. She knew that because she was already accustomed to having him around now and he wasn’t even living with her.

‘And shall I…er…? Well, I feel I ought to ask this…what about sleeping arrangements?’ she asked in a rush.

They found themselves in the kitchen and she sank into a chair and looked at him.

‘What about them?’

Just like that his mind swung back to the sight of her on that bed, the bigness of her stomach, her belly button slightly protruding—the essence of the rounded, fertile woman. His woman.

Except she wasn’t, was she?

Currently she was a woman who was trying to have a conversation about the boundaries she could put into place to spare herself the discomfort of having him under her feet. His mouth tightened, but he wasn’t going to get involved in a row with her. Stress came in different guises, and he wasn’t going to stress her by arguing with her—especially not now.

Marriage was no longer a subject under discussion. It had been efficiently and silently removed from the menu. Should he have pressed home his point in the beginning? Left her with no wriggle room? Because if they had got married he would have been able to keep an eye on her…they wouldn’t have ended up racing to the hospital in a state of flat-out panic.

But a reluctant, bitter and resentful wife…? No, the answer did not lie there.

Nevertheless, reluctant and resentful as she might be at his intrusion into her happy, solitary and peaceful existence here, it was still going to happen.

‘There are four bedrooms in this house, Susie…’ He couldn’t veil the simmering frustration that had crept into his voice at the thought of, for the first time in his life, planting himself somewhere where he wasn’t wanted. ‘I don’t think it will be an insurmountable problem if I use one of them. And if memory serves me right there are two en suite bathrooms, so there will be no danger of our crossing paths first thing in the morning with toothbrushes in our hands.’

Susie blushed, guiltily aware that he was putting himself out for her and doing it without complaint. It would be a far more laborious commute for him to get to work in the mornings, and if he chose to work from the house, that too would be a huge sacrifice.

Why did she always emerge feeling like the villain in the piece?

Because she wanted so much more from him, and wanting more made her edgy…made her sound ungrateful for the little things he did…even for the big things he did. Because, however big they were, they weren’t big enough.

‘Just relax about it, Susie. It’s no big deal and it won’t be for long.’

‘Because when the baby’s born you’ll clear out?’

‘What else would you want?’ he asked brusquely.

For a heartbeat, she played with the idea of throwing caution to the winds and telling him that actually what she wanted was a ring on her finger and him in bed beside her every night, for them to grow old together. What she wanted was for him to be madly in love with her, and it would be weak and stupid ever to think of settling for anything less.

But when she thought of him tonight…the way his safe, solid presence had taken away all her fears and made her feel secure…

‘Good. Okay.’

‘I’ll even take the load from your shoulders by helping with the cooking,’ he said, and shot her a slanting smile that set her whole body alight.

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

‘You have my solemn word that I’ll consult recipe books before I decide to fling a few things into a pan.’

‘I guess it would be nice to have somebody cook for me.’

She was a woman built to share her life with someone, and that fact was brought forcibly home to him when she said that, her voice wistful. Hard on the heels of that thought came a less pleasant one, and that was that the person she would end up sharing her life with wouldn’t be him—even though between them they had created the new life growing in her stomach.

‘No stress. Remember what the consultant said? And I don’t like the thought of you spending hours in that studio of yours, doing painstaking work.’

‘I move around a lot,’ Susie confessed. ‘I draw and paint a little, and then I stretch my legs and wander around the house to make sure my muscles don’t decide to seize up on me. Besides, I’m nearly finished with my commission, and the next one is for a children’s book so it’ll be far less detailed. In fact I shall probably be able to do a lot of it in front of the telly. Sergio, there’s no need for you to feel that you have to micromanage every single aspect of my life because I’m pregnant.’

Sergio ignored that. ‘Are you all right to stay on your own tonight?’

‘Of course I am—and that’s just what I’m talking about!’ She took a deep breath. ‘In fact,’ she said evenly, ‘I’m so tired I shall probably fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.’

Unlike all those other times, when bed had signalled a lot more than falling asleep.

A rush of jumbled thoughts crowded into her head, jostling for space. Memories of being touched by him combined with the stress of the past few hours, the security she had felt at having him at her side, the relief at having received the all-clear…the sadness of realising that he truly saw her as nothing more than a responsibility, the helplessness at wanting more and knowing she would never have it.

Her eyes darkened and she licked suddenly dry lips. He was staring at her and she was rooted to the chair, unable to move a muscle. Except for her heart. Her heart was the only thing moving, beating inside her so fast and so hard that she wanted to faint.

‘Don’t,’ Sergio warned her gruffly.

She blinked at him in an attempt to clear her head. ‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t look at me like that.’ He shook his head, broke eye contact briefly, but then was compelled to look at her again.

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re issuing an invitation.’

Or maybe he had misread that expression on her face? Before he had always had complete and utter confidence in his ability to have whatever woman he wanted, but she had managed to instil in him a healthy vein of self-doubt.

‘You’re tired,’ he continued. ‘We’re both exhausted after tonight.’

‘Which means…’ she was angry with herself again, because she had only just managed to catch herself before she fell headlong into what would have been a stupid mistake ‘…that it’s time for you to leave.’

She hazarded a smile, which seemed to do the trick, breaking the spell between them and allowing her to breathe as though something heavy wasn’t sitting on her chest. She stood up and began walking him to the front door, keeping her distance.

It was bad enough that she would have to fight her feelings for him without the luxury of having time out when he wasn’t around, but how much worse if she had given in? If she had done what her body had been urging her to do? If she had just…stepped towards him, laid her palm on his hard chest, stripped off her jumper and her thick thermal vest and her sensible bra so that he could swirl his tongue over her sensitive nipples…?

How uncomfortable would that have made the situation? Because he would have responded. She had glimpsed the flare of hunger in his eyes. And maybe he was just horny because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or maybe he was curious to find out what it felt like to make love to a woman who was big with his child, but he would have responded…

And then in the morning he would no longer have been horny, and would no longer have been curious, and where would that have left them?

She heard herself talking normally to him as she showed him out, even though her mind was in a whirl, and when he had gone she leaned against the front door and finally allowed herself to breathe evenly.

How the heck was she going to survive the next couple of months? she wondered.

CHAPTER TEN

‘I THINK I felt something…’

Sergio looked up from the report he had been scanning on his computer. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he was the same man who had wined and dined women, slept with them, moved on… The same man whose entire life had been focused on work and the thrill of making money and growing an empire. A man who had enjoyed the freedom of living exclusively for himself.

He had moved in with her seven weeks previously and they had settled into a routine which was one born of necessity. He knew that. Of course he did. Circumstances had compelled him to live life at a pace he would never have imagined possible. What made him uneasy was the fact that he had adapted so fast.

They were living in a weird kind of bubble, in which they functioned as a couple for the sake of their unborn child. Bubbles eventually burst. When this one did the dithering would be over and she would accept the inevitable. He had indulged her by not forcing her hand, but in the end the result would be the same.

Except now the certainty that this was going to work out as planned seemed to hang in the balance, and he felt a rare surge of confusion.

‘No, it’s nothing.’

Susie had been frankly terrified of this arrangement, and sometimes when she thought about it she was still terrified—because she had become so accustomed to sharing space with him. Had he been right all along? That a marriage of convenience would be a workable marriage? Had she made far too big a deal of wanting the fairy tale of love and romance and assuming that anything that fell short of that was a waste of time?

‘You’re becoming the queen of the false alarm,’ Sergio said drily, flipping shut his laptop and standing to stretch out his muscles, which had tightened from sitting in one place for too long.

He had gone into the office today, had successfully signed on the dotted line for a deal that had been brewing for nearly a year and a half, and yet his only thoughts had been of how fast he could get back to her.

He looked at her broodingly and she met his gaze and then glanced away.

This happened a lot less than she had feared…this flipping over of her heart when their eyes met and held for a fraction too long…when she happened to see something in his gaze that spoke of other stuff…not just the normal, casual, comfortable stuff that passed between them from day to day.

It was like looking down into a clear stream and glimpsing the swirl of dangerous currents moving so fast and so deep that they didn’t ruffle the calm surface except very occasionally, when they glittered and seduced and held her temporarily captive.

Dry-mouthed, she dragged her eyes away from him, half wishing that he wouldn’t stand there, stretching, so that his shirt tugged free from the waistband of his trousers, exposing a sliver of bronzed flat belly that tempted her fingers.

‘I know…’ Her breath hitched in her throat. ‘Every time I feel anything I think I’m about to go into labour—even though the midwife’s told me a hundred times that it’s only labour if I can time the contractions. Getting something that feels like a contraction every other day doesn’t count.’

‘You’d be forgiven for getting panicky—especially in light of that scare…not to mention the fact that the baby’s due any day now.’

‘I know. It’s come round so quickly since…since…’

‘Since you sprang it on me?’

His voice was low and serious, and for some reason she felt a little thread of alarm race through her because this was as serious as he had been since… Well, since he had moved in.

The intimacy of their shared situation settled like a weight on her. It was pitch-black outside. Dinner had been eaten, dishes stacked in the dishwasher, and she was a handful of minutes away from heading upstairs for the night, leaving Sergio in the sitting room. He would resume work and then would retire to bed at some point during the night or the early hours of the morning.

Winter was all around them. The homely warmth of the house kept it at bay, but as he continued to look at her she was aware of the fact that, yes, there really were only the two of them in this place. Ex-lovers who had created a baby between them… Herself and the man she was compelled to look at, driven to want…

She licked her lips and set aside the little sketch pad on which she had been drawing.

‘I…er…’ She cleared her throat and looked at him. ‘I’ve never thanked you for being so decent about the whole thing. Your whole life’s been turned on its head.’ She laughed. ‘Can you believe that this is the first time we’re really talking about this?’

‘There seemed little point in stressing you out with long-winded discussions…’ Eyes still pinned to her face, Sergio strolled to one of the chairs facing the sofa and sat down, hunching forward so that his forearms were resting on his thighs.

But now the time had come to talk. He wasn’t sure how long this had been building inside him, how long he had known that the comfortable arrangement they had fallen into would have to be broken. He just knew that the baby would be born any day now and that once that baby arrived the situation between them would change dramatically.

Opportunities would be lost for ever.

Suddenly opportunities and having access to them seemed like the most important thing in the world. So this was it. Naturally they had to talk. They couldn’t walk blindly into parenthood without first sorting out all the little details that would crash into them the second this baby was born. They had to be prepared. She had to be prepared. And this so-called conversation was going to stress her out.

‘I know you think I’ve needed watching over ever since the scare at the hospital, but I don’t,’ Susie said flatly.

Restlessness washed into her. She wondered whether she should mention that her stress levels were building—and then decided that her stress levels would rocket whenever they had this conversation, be it here and now, or next week, or when she was lying in a hospital bed with their baby in a crib next to them.

There was never going to be a right time to hear what had to be said, because she had become so accustomed to having him around.

‘You can’t blame a guy for being concerned. You are, after all, carrying my child.’

‘Shall I tell you something? I never thought you were the sort of conventional person who’d ever come out with stuff like that.’

‘I’m glad to have introduced you to a new side of my personality.’

‘I’ve seen lots of different sides of your personality over the past few weeks…’

‘Should I be uneasy when you say that?’

‘You said that we needed to talk.’

‘I don’t remember putting it quite like that.’

‘Not in so many words…’ She shrugged. ‘But I’ve developed a knack for reading between the lines.’ She sighed and sifted her fingers through her hair. ‘I guess this is as good a time as any to decide what…what’s going to happen once the baby’s born. It needs to be out in the open. I mean, there are all sorts of decisions to be made.’

‘Yes. There are.’

‘For starters, you’ve got a life to lead—a life that’s waiting out there for you.’

‘What makes you think that you know what sort of life is out there waiting for me to lead it?’

‘I feel like you’ve been forced to put your whole life on hold to move in here with me. It’s been a sacrifice.’

‘For you?’ Sergio drawled. ‘Or for me?’

‘For…both of us…’

But since when was it a great sacrifice to be living with the guy you loved, who was looking out for you? Taking care of you? What pregnant woman didn’t want to be treated like a piece of china? If she could only box up all the other anxieties that went along with that scenario…

Sergio flushed darkly. He wondered when his priorities had shifted and marvelled that he had failed to pay due attention to this sea change. He had mistakenly thought that the bombshell had been her pregnancy. He’d been wrong. The fog of confusion he had earlier dismissed returned and then cleared, and in the clear light he could see the precipice over which he was dangling.

She was fidgeting, her fingers playing with the cotton of her loose jogging bottoms. She had only just conceded in the past couple of weeks that she needed proper maternity wear. Before that she had banked on elasticated waistbands to do the trick.

‘It’s been worth it, hasn’t it? Having me here?’

‘You can be very reassuring.’

‘Is that all you have to say on the subject?’

‘What else is there to say?’ Susie cried, suddenly wanting this dreadful conversation to be over and done with, and angry with him for drawing it out with pointless questions.

The businesslike arrangement he so approved of might have taken a bit of a knock, but she wanted him to bring it back to the table now, so that she could get her head around it before the baby came.

‘Do you want me to present you with a medal because you took time out of your hectic lifestyle to supervise me and make sure I wasn’t getting up to anything that might harm the baby?’

‘I’m not looking for medals.’ Maybe this wasn’t the time to be having this conversation after all. ‘And I don’t want to stress you out, Susie. That’s not my intention.’

‘I’m not stressed out.’

She breathed evenly, deeply, clearing her head and trying to fight her way past the fog of unhappiness that threatened to smother her—because she didn’t want to think about what was going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or at the end of the month. She wanted to wallow in the present and, yes, pretend that the present wasn’t going to turn into the future. She wanted to be a coward for a little bit longer.

‘And there’s no need for you to be so darn gentle with me, Sergio. I’m not going to fall apart at the seams just because you want to clear the air and sort out the details before life gets busy with a baby. I want that too! So—you’ll move out and you can come and visit as often as you like. You’d just have to give me notice. I don’t want you showing up out of the blue and expecting a cup of coffee. I know you bought the house, and I know right now you have a key, but I’ll expect you to return the key when you leave. For good.’

She was holding herself ramrod-stiff. The deep breathing obviously had a way to go when it came to relaxing her. It didn’t augur well for labour.

‘Right.’

‘And I’m sure we can work out something sensible with the financial side of things. I mean, the arrangement we have at the moment seems to be working all right—and, of course, the more established I get in my freelance work, the less dependent I’ll be on you…’

‘Right.’

Her words were floating around his head without really registering. He was staring down into an abyss and for the first time in his life was paralysed with inaction. How was it that he hadn’t spotted the ground opening up beneath his feet? He had never in his entire life taken his eye off the ball, but he had done it with her.

‘And then you can get back to your busy life. I don’t know… Would you want me to sign anything?’

‘My busy life…?’

‘Earning money, running an empire, being a mover and a shaker in the big, bad world…’

Over time she had come to grasp not just the extent of his wealth but the extent of his power and influence. Neither impressed her, because if he’d been poorer and less influential, then maybe he would have wanted what she wanted: just a normal relationship. Maybe he would have loved her the way she loved him. She didn’t enjoy thinking like that, but she couldn’t help it.

‘I seem to have taken quite a bit of time out of my “busy life” over the past few weeks, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘But I didn’t force you to—’

‘Did I say that you did?’

‘No, but—’

‘Did it ever occur to you that I may have wanted to?’

‘For the baby,’ Susie inserted hastily, before her heart had time to pick up speed and before her head could start building castles in the sky.

‘Love… It comes with a lot of high hopes and bitter disappointments…’

‘I know that’s how you feel.’

‘Or so I thought.’ He ran his fingers through his hair—a gesture that was part frustration, part weird nerves. ‘My father had a long and successful marriage with my mother and it was a marriage that was arranged. When he flung himself headlong into love it crashed and burned.’

‘His marriage might have been arranged, but has it ever occurred to you that he fell in love with your mother? That what he felt for his second wife wasn’t love at all? Maybe just a reaction to loneliness? He was weak and he fell for a pretty woman who flattered him. It happens. But it isn’t love.’

‘I have been doing some thinking, and for the first time…’

For the first time he had thought of his parents, remembered the way they had been with one another, and had realised, slowly but surely, that what had begun as an arrangement had ended as true love. The story hadn’t been as black and white as he had imagined. He had always equated marriage as an arrangement as successful and marriage as a whirlwind of emotion and so-called love as a nightmare. It had subtly altered his approach to relationships.

‘For the first time…?’

‘This situation between us isn’t going to work, Susie,’ he said roughly.

It felt as though he was on the edge of a cliff, a yawning drop at his feet, but the thing was that he was going to step off the side—whatever the outcome.

‘You don’t want to be married to me—you see that as some sort of unacceptable sacrifice, where the only inevitable outcome would be both of us being miserable and resentful…’

‘You would miss your freedom.’ She stared down at her fingers while her mind darted like quicksilver in a thousand different directions.

‘I would miss you more.’ Their eyes met and he found that he was holding his breath. ‘We work. I challenge you to deny that. We can live together and it’s good between us. And that’s without sex.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t want you on a part-time basis when the baby’s born. Just think about it. Think about what we have. This isn’t a relationship that’s destined to fail just because it’s been generated by the fact that you became pregnant. Maybe that was Fate. I’ve never been much of a believer in that old chestnut, but lately I’ve had a turnaround. Fate brought us together and it conspired to keep us together—and that’s what I want. To be with you. With you both. You and our baby.’

‘I don’t understand…’ Because missing from all of that were the three words she wanted to hear.

‘I’m not the sort of guy you ever saw as a long-term proposition…but Susie, I could be. I mean, think about it—have we had one argument since I moved in? A single argument? No. Not one. Have I been…well…useful? Yes. Those are two things you should take into account when you decide that I’m not the one for you. You might fantasise about someone who wears an earring, has a ponytail and knows how to cook quiche, but would he really be the man for you?’

‘He might be if he loved me…’

‘No one could love you as much as I do. No one.’

‘You love me? No, you don’t. You don’t believe in love.’

Unable to tell her what he was being driven to tell her without touching her, Sergio took immediate advantage of her open-mouthed confusion to join her on the sofa. If he had to overwhelm her with his physical proximity, then so be it. He wasn’t above low tricks.

‘I never thought I did,’ he murmured, ‘but no one’s right all of the time. Even me.’

‘Now I really am shocked.’ Susie’s heart was swooping and diving so fast that she could scarcely breathe. ‘I thought you were the guy who never got it wrong?’

‘You’re going to marry me,’ he ordered shakily. ‘Aren’t you?’

Susie pulled him towards her and kissed him with all the passion she had been storing up for the past weeks and months—the passion that had lain slumbering under the surface, ever ready to leap out and take charge.

‘You love me! Of course I’m going to marry you. I’ve loved you for so long… I just never thought that you could ever love me back—and I’ve been so scared of getting used to you being around me. You never thought that you could love, and I always knew that I could…except I never expected it to be someone like you…’

‘I’m reading all sorts of terrific compliments into that,’ Sergio said huskily.

He slipped his hand under the jumper and gently, tenderly caressed her, stroked her swollen nipples, but he didn’t go further. They had a lifetime to explore one another. He could take his time. But he just had to feel her, and her body was wonderfully familiar. Everything about her filled him with a sense of completion, as though this was the woman he had been waiting to find.

He shuddered when he thought that he might not have met her at all—that she might have joined that mustard-clothed clown on her blind date and left his restaurant without throwing herself into his company.

‘You should,’ Susie whispered. ‘And you should know something else…’

‘What’s that?’

‘I feel a twinge—and this time it’s the real thing…’

Georgina Louise Francesca Burzi was born with very little fuss, after a complication-free delivery. Pink-cheeked, with a mop of dark curls, dark eyes and the same long dark killer eyelashes of her father, she was declared by every single person who came to visit the most beautiful baby on the planet.

Louise Sadler, chuffed to bits with the impending wedding—which, she declared, she had always known would happen, because what mother didn’t know when her daughter was in love—made time to gloat quietly over the fact that she had hit the grandmother post first.

‘And leave the wedding to me,’ she added sotto voce, keeping a sharp eye on her husband, who was holding the baby and attempting to look comfortable. ‘I’m suggesting small, intimate and exquisite—emphasis on the exquisite. Too big can sometimes be just a little too tacky…’

Susie was more than happy to oblige, and she realised, somewhere deep inside her, how far she had come. She was no longer trying to prove anything to any of her family. They loved her as she was…

And so did Sergio—who never tired of telling her.

Now, with their visitors all gone and back in the comfort of their house, Susie reached out and linked her fingers through his, settling with a sigh into the gentle kiss he placed on her neck. In a Moses basket next to the sofa, where they were sitting quietly relaxing, baby Georgie was sleeping, her tiny, soft snores punctuating the comfortable silence.

In three months’ time they would be having their delayed honeymoon—baby and all.

For now…

She rested her head in the crook of his neck and then raised her upturned face to his and smiled, before kissing him gently on the mouth—a sweet, long kiss that expressed more than words could ever begin to say.

I love you…I want you…I need you…and I always will.

An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed

Anne Mather

One night back in her husband’s bed…

The inability to have a child left Joanna and Matt Novak’s passionate marriage in tatters. But when Joanna asks her tycoon husband for a divorce, Matt makes it clear he expects them to remain married…in the most intimate of ways!

As tempers flare, the raging desire between them explodes—just once more, Matt and Joanna give in to the thrill of each other’s touch.

In the shattering aftermath of their explosive encounter, they agree to part ways…until Joanna discovers one tiny consequence of their night together—she’s carrying Matt’s baby!

To my wonderful family, Fred, Kate, Nick, Lyn,

Abi and Ben, and not forgetting Dolly.

What would I do without you?

CHAPTER ONE

THE LATE AFTERNOON sun was still too hot.

Matt Novak shifted impatiently on the cushioned recliner his mother had had one of the maids place in the shaded area of the patio. The khaki shorts he was wearing with a black tee shirt were damp with perspiration. But he intended to go to the gym later. He was sick and tired of doing nothing at all.

Ahead of him, sunlight was dazzling on the waters of the canal that lapped against the sea wall. Even the dark sunglasses he was wearing couldn’t entirely protect his eyes from the glare of the bay beyond.

There was a banyan tree beside the patio, its gnarled branches almost invisible beneath trailing blossoms of flowering vines. His father’s sailing dinghy was tied to the dock, rocking gently at its mooring. He could smell the dampness of the vegetation growing out of the waterway and the unmistakeable scent of the sea.

It was all very beautiful and very peaceful, but Matt had had enough of being treated like an invalid. To begin with, it had been quite pleasant to be waited on hand and foot, but now his mother was beginning to get on his nerves. She made no attempt to hide her disapproval when he went and bench-pressed his own weight in the gym. She really didn’t want to accept that he was feeling fine.

As witness her reluctance to let him use a computer.

His own laptop and phone had been stolen while he was in the hospital in Caracas, and to begin with he couldn’t have cared less. The tropical fever that had struck him down during his trip to Venezuela had been very unpleasant, and he’d needed all his strength to defeat it. But his mother wouldn’t accept that he was over that now, and she was doing everything in her power to keep him here in Coral Gables.

The only fly in her ointment was that his father had abandoned his retirement and taken over the New York office of Novak Oil Exploration and Shipping again. Matt’s job until three months ago.

He scowled. Not that he objected to that. He’d already decided that spending the rest of his life in a boardroom wasn’t for him. Now he had to convince his parents of the fact.

However that wasn’t all that was bugging him at this moment. Despite the many emails he’d asked his mother to send to his estranged wife who lived in London, Joanna hadn’t responded to any of them.

Yes, she was probably still mad at him. He got that. But didn’t she care now if he lived or died? It seemed not, and, although he had replaced his iPhone, she’d changed her number after their separation.

He could have rung the gallery where she was working, but he had no desire to speak to David Bellamy. He had more pride than to admit he didn’t have his wife’s new number. But he was planning to leave for London at the end of the week. The sooner he could speak to her in person, the better.

The sound of a car’s engine broke the silence.

Matt stiffened, wondering who was visiting his mother today. Then he remembered. His sister, Sophie, who was staying with them at the moment, had gone into Miami to see one of her friends off at the airport. He thought the engine was that of his mother’s little Mazda, but, at the sound of more than one pair of footsteps coming along the paved pathway from the front of the house, he wondered who the hell Sophie had brought back with her.

Not another woman for him to admire, he hoped. He’d had his fill of his mother’s attempts to interest him in some well-connected girl. He and Joanna might be having their problems, but they were still married and he firmly believed they’d eventually work their issues out.

But it wasn’t a friend of Sophie’s. Well, only indirectly.

The young woman following his sister was far more familiar to him. Tall and slim, yet with a curvaceous figure, shown to effect in an open-necked silk shirt and a swirly skirt that ended just above her knees, she looked stunning. A sexy riot of sun-streaked hair curled about her shoulders, and she met his startled gaze with wary violet eyes.

The last time he’d seen his estranged wife had been at her father’s funeral nine months ago. Though on that occasion she hadn’t known he was there. Before that, it had been when she’d walked out of their London apartment. She’d sworn then she never wanted to see him again, and yet here she was.

Halleluiah!

Sophie looked anxious, he thought. ‘Look who I found at the airport,’ she exclaimed, trying for a cheerful tone, and Matt got instantly to his feet.

For her part, Joanna was on edge. She hadn’t wanted to come here, to Matt’s parents’ house. Not like this. She needed to speak to her husband, of course she did, but she’d booked herself a room for the night at a hotel on Miami Beach and she’d been hoping to invite Matt to join her for dinner that evening. Turning up here, unannounced, had not been her intention.

Until Sophie had informed her that Matt had been seriously ill.

When she’d boarded the flight from New York to Miami that morning, she hadn’t really known if she’d find her husband here. He wasn’t in London, and she’d discovered he wasn’t at the New York office either, so she’d known he could be anywhere.

The Novak Corporation or NovCo, as it appeared on the stock exchange, had offices all over the world. But Matt tended to work in one of two places and, after flying to New York and learning that only the elder Mr Novak was available, she’d felt compelled to try here.

Of course, she’d wondered why Matt’s father should be in charge. Oliver Novak had retired to Florida a couple of years ago, and Joanna was sure he wouldn’t have returned to work unless something was wrong. But even then, it hadn’t occurred to her that Matt might be involved.

She could have asked to speak to Oliver, she supposed. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But, much as she liked Matt’s father, she was loath to involve him in what was actually a personal affair. This was something she needed to speak to her husband about herself.

She’d decided to come to Florida as a last resort. It didn’t necessarily follow that if Oliver Novak was in New York, his son was in Miami, but it was worth a try. Maybe Matt wasn’t reading his emails, which she found hard to believe. Or maybe he was simply ignoring her demands.

She wasn’t looking forward to seeing his mother again. Adrienne Novak had never liked her. Joanna was sure she’d have been delighted when she and Matt separated. She’d never regarded Joanna as good enough for her son, and had lost no opportunity to create trouble for them.

It had been particularly painful for Joanna when she and Matt had been trying for a baby. Despite consulting fertility calendars and temperature gauges, Joanna hadn’t fallen pregnant, and Adrienne had implied that, as the Novaks’ only son, Matt naturally wanted an heir. And if not with her…

Adrienne hadn’t finished the sentence, but Joanna had known exactly what she meant. Her mother-in-law had taken every opportunity to turn the knife.

It was totally by chance that Joanna had run into Matt’s sister at the airport. Sophie had been there to say goodbye to a friend from California, and she’d been delighted to see her sister-in-law.

She and Joanna had been good friends in the days when they had lived in New York. Sophie was older than Matt, but nothing at all like her mother. She’d sympathised with Joanna’s disappointment at not having a baby, even though her own marriage, engineered by her mother, was heading for the rocks.

Sophie, learning that Joanna was here to see Matt, had suggested that she should come back to the house with her. And when Joanna had demurred, explaining that she’d planned to stay at a hotel for tonight, Sophie had said something that had totally changed her mind.

‘Matt’s virtually recovered now and he’ll be so glad to see you,’ she’d chattered on guilelessly. ‘You know what my mother’s like. Even though Matt’s got over the infection, she’s hoping to keep him at home for a few more days at least.’

Not knowing what Sophie was talking about, Joanna had been shocked to learn that her husband was recovering from some tropical illness he’d picked up in South America. It explained why their father was running the company in his absence, but she wished someone had let her know.

Matt wouldn’t want her to stay at a hotel, Sophie had insisted, although Joanna had seen the curiosity in her sister-in-law’s eyes. Which begged the question, what had Matt told his parents about their break-up? Surely, he’d explained to his family why Joanna was trying to contact him now?

It seemed not.

Whatever, Joanna had known she wouldn’t be welcome at the house in Coral Gables whether Matt was there or not. Yet if Matt’s mother knew why she’d been trying to get in touch with her son, why hadn’t she told him? Bearing in mind the length of their separation, Joanna was surprised she hadn’t persuaded her son to apply for a divorce himself.

Sophie, of course, had jumped to her own conclusions. She’d assumed her sister-in-law was here to heal the breach. ‘I know you and Matt have had your problems,’ she’d said, aware that Joanna and her brother had been living apart for the past eleven months. ‘But I’m sure you’ve both had time to realise you need one another. Matt’s been pretty down ever since he came back from Venezuela.’

Which would be the result of the infection he’d picked up, Joanna had reminded herself firmly. It was unlikely his depression had anything to do with her. But Sophie had always been her friend and she’d been loath to upset her. And perhaps the sooner the confrontation was over—if there was to be a confrontation—the better.

Matt’s eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, and, despite her nerves, Joanna couldn’t help noticing that he had lost weight. Yet, at thirty-eight, he would still draw women’s eyes wherever he went, she conceded bitterly. She’d always thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever known.

But she wasn’t here to conduct a one-woman lust-fest, she thought irritably. Looking at him now, she felt sure the emails she’d sent must have reached him. Surely, he hadn’t been so ill that he couldn’t read his mail?

Despite his loss of weight, he looked reasonably fit. And just as disturbingly attractive as before. There was a brooding sensuality about his dark countenance that had always caused a pleasurable buzz inside her. And despite everything that had gone before, she was unhappily aware that that hadn’t changed.

Some people might say that his eyes were too deep-set or his mouth too thin, but she knew better. Matt’s looks were too sensual to be ignored. Which was why she’d sent the emails in the first place; why she’d hoped he wouldn’t contest her request for a divorce. She’d fought against having to see him again. She’d known how vulnerable she still was where he was concerned.

It was infuriating, but she couldn’t deny the way her breathing hitched when he came towards her. Don’t touch me, she thought, panicking, and felt a totally ridiculous urge to flee.

‘Jo,’ he said, pulling off his sunglasses, his deep voice scraping like sandpaper over her tortured nerves. ‘How good of you to come.’

Was that sarcasm in his voice? Joanna couldn’t be sure, but when he held out a hand to her, she pretended not to see it. She didn’t want him to detect the crazy tattoo of her heart or the heat that swept up her throat from her chest at his nearness. But she was unhappily aware that the hollow between her breasts revealed a betraying trace of moisture to his narrow-eyed gaze.

‘Sophie says you’ve been ill,’ she said quickly, sensing his appraisal and wishing she hadn’t unfastened her shirt on the trip from the airport. The vest below the shirt was adequate, but hardly modest. ‘I’m sorry. Are you feeling better now?’

Matt’s hand dropped to his side and he regarded her through puzzled eyes. His dark lashes narrowed his gaze, but she sensed she’d said—and probably done—the wrong thing. Didn’t he know that no one had thought to inform her of his state of health?

‘I’m surprised you took so long to get here,’ he responded, unknowingly answering her question. And Sophie, sensing that all was not as it should be, broke in.

‘I found Joanna at the airport,’ she exclaimed, evidently trying to divert the conversation. ‘She’d just flown in from New York this morning. She was planning to book into a hotel, but I persuaded her to come with me instead.’

‘Really?’ said Matt, and from his tone Joanna sensed he definitely wasn’t pleased. His eyes impaled her. ‘Why were you planning on staying at a hotel?’

‘I thought it was wise.’ Joanna tried to sound casual. ‘After all, this is your parents’ house and I hadn’t warned anyone I was coming.’

‘Did you feel you had to?’

‘Obviously,’ she said, not really understanding where this was going.

‘But you got the emails my mother sent you, I assume,’ said Matt impatiently. ‘I have to admit, I’d expected a more—what shall I say? —sympathetic response?’

Which was when Sophie evidently decided to leave them to it. With a rueful wave of her hand, and a ‘See you later’, she slipped away into the house.

But as far as Joanna was concerned, the older girl’s departure only heightened the tension between them and she took an involuntary step backwards. What emails was he talking about? Evidently not her own.

Shaking her head, she went on, ‘Believe it or not, when I flew down from New York, I knew nothing about your illness. If I had, I’d have got in touch with you sooner. When I found out you weren’t at the New York office, I could only guess where you might be.’

‘Didn’t my father tell you?’ Matt asked impatiently, and then realised that if Oliver had seen Joanna—or spoken to her, for that matter—he’d have let his son know.

‘I didn’t speak to your father,’ said Joanna uncomfortably. ‘I wanted to speak to you.’

‘Am I to understand that you’ve had no word from me?’

‘Yes.’ Joanna squared her shoulders. ‘Why would I lie?’

‘Why indeed?’

Joanna was indignant. ‘If you’d bothered to read any of my messages, you’d know why I’m here.’

‘Your messages?’ Matt looked bemused and Joanna felt a sense of disbelief.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she exclaimed. ‘We’re talking at cross purposes here. I’m talking about the half-dozen or so emails I’ve sent you in the past few weeks.’ She steeled herself to meet his gaze. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t read any of them.’

‘I haven’t.’ Matt returned her stare. ‘First of all, I’ve been in hospital in both Caracas and Miami. And afterwards, I let my mother deal with any correspondence.’

Oh, why am I not surprised? thought Joanna bitterly, as comprehension dawned. What a golden opportunity for Adrienne to drive another wedge between them this had been.

If there hadn’t been one there already, she appended bitterly.

‘That’s why my father’s in New York.’ Matt lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘As soon as he realised I’d need some time to convalesce, he insisted on taking over. I suspect retirement was getting boring. Whatever, he couldn’t wait to get on the plane.’

Taking over was something the Novaks were very familiar with, Joanna thought grimly. But when Oliver Novak had had a mild stroke two years ago, his doctors had advised him to give up his job as CEO of NovCo.

That was when Matt had taken over, and because Joanna hadn’t wanted to leave her father, who’d just been diagnosed with lung cancer, Matt had agreed that he should divide his time between the New York hub and the London affiliate.

A double-edged sword, Joanna admitted now. Her and Matt’s relationship had already been strained by their inability to conceive, and her unwillingness to discuss her feelings with him. It hadn’t helped at all to hear about Matt wining and dining male and female investors, even though that had always been part of his job.

It had never bothered her before, she conceded. In those days, she’d believed Matt loved her, and she’d trusted him implicitly. But being unable to conceive had made her vulnerable, in ways she’d never considered before.

‘I had no idea what was going on,’ she declared now, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder and straightening her spine to face him. ‘I’m not without feelings, you know.’

But she suspected she now knew what had happened to the messages she’d sent Matt. If they’d passed through his mother’s hands, Adrienne must have read them. But that didn’t really explain why she hadn’t passed them on.

Nevertheless, her reasons for being here hadn’t changed. She wanted a divorce. It was as simple and as complicated as that. Simple, because all Matt had to do was agree not to contest it; and complicated, because when her father sold his small company to the Novak Corporation, Matt had made her a shareholder in NovCo.

Not that she wanted any part of the organisation now. But the legal aspects of the situation would have to be gone through. She had hoped that after this interview Matt might come to London, which would have made things easier. But she was here now and she had to accept the situation as it was.

She should have taken David Bellamy’s advice, she thought ruefully. Her boss at the art gallery, where she’d been working when she met Matt and where she was working again now, had warned her she should leave any communication between them to a solicitor. David had never liked Matt. He had been of the opinion that a man like Matthew Novak was used to women falling at his feet, and he’d been convinced their marriage wouldn’t last.

And it hadn’t.

‘You know what he’s like,’ David had said on more than one occasion. ‘He believes he can twist you round his little finger. And if he thinks I’m involved in your decision, he’s bound to be suspicious. Do you really want to give him the chance to change your mind?’

‘Matt couldn’t do that,’ she’d retorted at once, the distance between them convincing her she was right.

And she was right, she silently insisted. She had only to think of her father, and the torment he must have suffered during his last illness, to know there was no going back.

Of course, that was months ago now, and her father was dead. But the bitterness she’d felt towards Matt had never gone away. She’d even convinced herself that the love they’d shared had been only a mirage. She was an independent woman these days and she wanted to keep it that way.

Ergo, the divorce.

Even so, she hadn’t been prepared for learning that Matt had been ill. When Sophie had first told her what had been going on, her reaction had made a mockery of everything she’d claimed.

She’d truly believed she was immune to Matt’s dark attraction; that she’d be able to look at him and speak to him without feeling the pull of his sensuality.

But once again, she’d been wrong…

CHAPTER TWO

YET WHAT DID that mean? That she was having second thoughts? But no, Joanna assured herself severely. She was merely reacting to the sexuality of the man, not to any lingering emotions she might feel.

Matt was regarding her with brooding eyes. Clearly, he was as bemused by the situation as she was. But he evidently had his own agenda, and, gesturing towards the chairs, he said, ‘Why don’t you sit down? I’ll order some refreshments. If you didn’t come to find out if I was still alive, why are you here?’

Joanna hesitated. Did she really want to behave as if this were just a social visit? Yet what else could she do in the present circumstances?

So, ‘All right,’ she said offhandedly and a snap of Matt’s fingers brought one of the household staff to the patio.

He ordered both coffee and a jug of iced tea, and then suggested that Joanna should take the lounger beside his own.

There were several chairs set in the shade of a striped awning and, resigning herself to the situation, Joanna took the one he indicated. But she couldn’t help stiffening when Matt seated himself beside her, lowering the footrest and turning his chair sideways so that his bare knees were only inches from her own.

They were alone, and Joanna put down her handbag and smoothed her hair back from her face. It had been tumbled on the ride from the airport, and she wished she’d had time to use a comb. Sophie’s car was a convertible, and, endeavouring a compromise, Joanna looped several errant strands behind her ears.

Matt, watching her, couldn’t help noticing how silky her hair was and recalling how soft her skin used to feel beneath his hands. It had been too long since they’d been together and he was impatient to tell her that, whatever had gone before, he was sorry they’d been living apart.

But would she be any more inclined to hear it now than she had before?

Meanwhile, Joanna was wishing she hadn’t run into Sophie at the airport. A phone call to the Novaks’ house would have surely elicited the information that Matt had been ill and she might well have waited until tomorrow before contacting him. She was not without feelings, but if she’d been able to invite Matt to the hotel, she would have felt a little more in control.

‘So…’ Matt regarded her enquiringly, arching a dark brow. ‘Do I take it you have not forgiven me?’

Joanna pressed her lips together. His words were so unexpected. ‘Did you think I would?’

‘It has been nine months since your father died,’ declared Matt quietly. ‘I regret that whole incident, but it wasn’t my fault.’

Joanna stared at him. ‘Yes, so you said,’ she declared coolly. ‘Nevertheless, my father trusted you.’

‘And I trusted him,’ he said harshly, unable to prevent himself, ‘which shows what a fool I was. Angus Carlyle trusted no one. Even your mother realised that.’

‘Leave my mother out of this,’ exclaimed Joanna tersely. ‘She was hardly a role model. She had an affair with another man.’

‘Not while she was married to your father. Glenys met Lionel Avery after she’d asked for a divorce,’ declared Matt flatly. ‘I hope you haven’t continued to hold that against her.’

‘My relationship with my mother is no concern of yours.’

‘No.’ Matt conceded the fact. ‘But Angus was a jealous man, Jo. He resented the fact that she was happy. He resented our marriage, as well.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Of course, it’s true. You were his little girl. He wanted to keep you that way. I’m surprised he let you work at Bellamy’s gallery. He can’t have known the guy was in love with you, too.’

Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s ridiculous! David doesn’t love me.’

Matt shrugged and expelled a weary breath. Reaching for her hand, he ran his fingers sensuously over her knuckles. ‘Let’s not talk about Bellamy or your father, Jo. The past is the past. I prefer to think about the future.’

Joanna had felt as if she were frozen until he touched her, but now she snatched her hand away. ‘We have no future,’ she said abruptly. ‘You have to know that.’

Matt’s expression darkened once again. ‘I know nothing of the kind,’ he replied, though there was a trace of bitterness in his tone now. ‘Are you going to let your father’s lies ruin your whole life?’

‘My father didn’t lie to me,’ she declared stiffly. ‘He told me the truth.’

‘His truth.’ Matt gazed at her with frustrated eyes. ‘I love you, Jo. Tell me what I can do to make things right.’

It was an actual effort, but Joanna dragged her eyes away from his. ‘I haven’t come here to try and mend our differences.’

Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I had guessed that.’

‘So, you must have realised—’

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Before she could blurt out that the only reason she was here was because she wanted a divorce, the man who had taken Matt’s order for refreshments returned.

And he wasn’t alone. An older woman, dressed in grey silk lounging pants and a matching grey smock, emerged from the villa behind them.

‘Matt,’ she began, her drawling voice revealing her discontent. ‘What is this Aaron tells me about you having a visitor? Someone Sophie brought back from the airport?’

And then, she saw Joanna, and her lips tightened angrily.

‘My God,’ she exclaimed, involuntarily Joanna was sure.

‘I—what are you doing here?’

A couple of hours later, Joanna was surveying her reflection in the long bathroom mirror adjoining one of the guest suites.

God, she thought incredulously. How had she got herself into this mess? She’d had no intention of staying at the Novak house any longer than was necessary. Yet here she was, committed to having dinner with Matt and his family. Committed to spending an evening fighting off Adrienne’s hostility and Matt’s magnetic appeal.

But only an evening. When Matt had suggested she should stay at the villa, she’d reminded him that she’d booked a room at the Corcovado already. Otherwise God knew what Matt might have expected of her. To share his suite of rooms, perhaps? She couldn’t deny an involuntary shiver at the thought.

It was all Adrienne’s fault, she decided. The way Matt’s mother had reacted when she’d seen her daughter-in-law had put Joanna’s nerves on edge. The woman had obviously never expected her to come to Miami. And why not? Matt was usually based in New York.

The situation hadn’t improved when Matt had accused her of interfering. ‘I believe you knew Joanna was trying to get in touch with me,’ he’d said harshly, getting to his feet. ‘When were you planning on telling me about that?’

And, when she had evidently been lost for an answer, he’d continued, ‘Oh, and what happened to the messages I asked you to send to Joanna? Can I assume they didn’t make it either?’

‘Don’t be sarcastic, Matthew!’ Adrienne’s face had become even redder than when she’d first seen her daughter-in-law. ‘I didn’t want you tearing off to London when you’d been so ill. I can assure you, anything I’ve done has been with your best interests at heart.’

Well, at least that explained why she’d said nothing, Joanna conceded. And perhaps, in the circumstances, she’d had a point.

‘So you have been screening my mail.’ Matt hadn’t been inclined to be tolerant, and the look Adrienne had bestowed on Joanna then showed a little of the anger she was trying so hard to suppress.

‘As I’ve just said, I didn’t think you were well enough to deal with your—wife’s—problems.’ There had been a distinct hesitation before the word ‘wife’. ‘I would have told you, Matt. Eventually. I never suspected she’d turn up here, uninvited.’

Joanna had gasped at this, getting to her feet to confront the other woman. ‘I didn’t want to come here,’ she’d said tersely. ‘Your daughter invited me. She was kind enough to tell me that Matt had been ill.’

‘As if you care.’

Adrienne had spoken contemptuously, only to be taken aback when Matt had intervened. ‘That’s enough,’ he’d said grimly. ‘Joanna’s here now. And whether you attempted to thwart her efforts to get in touch with me or not, I think she deserves some respect, don’t you?’

Joanna doubted Adrienne thought any such thing, but she’d known when to give up. The fact that Matt had defended her must have been a bitter pill for her to swallow, and just for a moment Joanna had been tempted to wrap her arms around his neck and pretend she’d come here to forgive him after all.

But that would have been foolish. Not to mention giving Matt entirely the wrong idea. Until she’d told him why she was here, she had to keep her distance. If only Adrienne didn’t arouse such a reckless desire for revenge.

Matt’s invitation to stay for dinner had been unavoidable.

‘But I need to change,’ she’d protested. ‘My things are still in the suitcase in Sophie’s car. Why don’t I call a taxi for now, check in at the hotel, and come back again tomorrow? It will give you a chance to read my emails, and then we can discuss why I’m here.’

‘What a good idea,’ Adrienne had inserted eagerly, but Matt would have none of it.

‘I’m not asking you to move in,’ he’d said shortly. ‘Surely you can pull a change of clothes out of your case. Then you can have a shower and rest for a while until the meal is ready. I do know how exhausting jet lag can be.’

So here she was, Joanna reflected, preparing to join the rest of the family for the evening meal. But her reflection in the mirror filled her with regret. She hadn’t brought any formal clothes with her and the simple sage-green silk tunic, which she’d planned on teaming with a pair of black leggings to travel home the next day, ended several revealing inches above her knees. Without the leggings—which were too hot to wear tonight—she’d never been more conscious of her bare legs.

There was no doubt that Adrienne wouldn’t like it; might even think Joanna had chosen something purposely provocative to wear. Which was so far from the truth, it was laughable. The last thing Joanna wanted was to have Matt think she’d had second thoughts about the divorce.

And yet, when he’d reached for her hand…

But she refused to entertain such treacherous thoughts. She was sure the problems in their relationship would have developed whether her father had been involved or not.

The rift between them had probably begun to crystallise when her father’s company was found to be in difficulties. They’d only been married for a couple of years and, unbeknown to Joanna, Carlyle Construction had been struggling with financial problems for equally as long. It was before Angus Carlyle had been diagnosed with cancer that he’d welcomed NovCo’s assistance. It had been the only way to avoid insolvency and debt.

However, after the takeover, her father had insisted his difficulties had arisen because of the downturn in the economy, though Matt had told her they’d existed long before that. At the time, Joanna had been so grateful to Matt for his support that she hadn’t questioned his assessment. It had been enough to know her father was solvent again, that Carlyle Construction lived on.

Until the disaster in the Alaskan oilfield.

Two men had been killed and several more injured when a drilling platform owned by NovCo had caught fire. It had made all the newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic, with horrifying pictures of the rescue that had taken place. Joanna had been desperate to speak to her husband, to assure herself that he was well and to learn the truth about the incident. But Matt had been working in New York, and had been tied up in meetings with the offshore oil and gas authorities, and had promised they’d talk in more length when he got back.

And then, when she’d visited her father, who had been in hospital at the time, he’d told her—with some reluctance, he’d insisted—that the real reason Matt didn’t want to talk was because he was trying to blame Carlyle Construction for the accident. He’d assured her that he’d never have told her what was going on if Matt hadn’t betrayed him. As it was, he couldn’t let her think the worst of her father when it wasn’t his fault.

Unfortunately, it had been another week before Matt had returned from New York. He’d told Joanna when he expected to return, but that was all, and she hadn’t wanted to discuss her father’s affairs over the phone when she hadn’t known who might be listening. Matt had apologised for not being in touch, but he’d said he’d explain everything when he saw her. He’d finished by telling her he loved her, and not to discuss the accident with anyone until he got back.

When he had got back, she hadn’t waited before confronting him with what her father had said. She’d been terribly upset, of course, and in hindsight she should have been more willing to listen to Matt’s side of the argument. But her father had been dying, and she couldn’t bear to let Angus go on thinking that Matt was blaming him for what had happened.

Matt had been taken aback by her accusations. His revelation that her father had been cutting corners for years, that, prior to the takeover, Carlyle Construction had been struggling because her father had been spending money he didn’t have, had stunned her. Matt had also claimed that Angus was simply trying to pre-empt the inevitable investigation into the accident that he knew would prove him guilty. But Angus had been unaware that, in an effort to save her father’s reputation, Matt had already briefed the board that NovCo would be accepting all liability for the fire.

However, when she’d told her father what Matt had said, Angus Carlyle had burst into tears. She’d thought at first it was gratitude, but, with his eyes streaming, he’d claimed that, far from protecting him, Matt was deceiving her, too. Angus had friends in New York, he’d said, friends who’d already told him that his name was toxic in the oil-producing community. The authorities were already investigating Carlyle Construction’s involvement and it was only a matter of time before NovCo shifted the blame.

His final plea had been that she was his daughter. Whatever differences they’d had in the past, their love for one another had never faltered. And Joanna had known she couldn’t deny the words of a man who was suffering with terminal cancer. Particularly as she’d always suspected how determined to protect the company’s interests Matt could be.

There’d been a huge row with Matt telling her she had no idea what her father was capable of, and Joanna accusing him of using Angus as a way to save NovCo’s reputation. Then she’d stormed out of their apartment, declaring she never wanted to speak to him again.

Learning, weeks later, that NovCo had, in fact, settled all claims against the company had been little compensation. As far as her father had been concerned, Matt had been trying to save his marriage, and had realised he’d made a terrible mistake by accusing him. Angus had even challenged her to ask Matt to explain why he’d hacked into her father’s emails, if it wasn’t to create a record of phony deals with risky suppliers he was supposed to have made.

She’d phoned Matt but he’d denied it, of course, although he hadn’t been able to deny that he had had Angus’s financial dealings investigated. But when Joanna had asked him why, he’d refused to answer her. He’d told her to ask her father that question; to put the old man on the spot.

However, Angus had had a relapse, and Joanna hadn’t been able to talk to him. And by the time he was in a temporary remission, Matt had been called back to New York.

The weeks of their separation had turned into months. Her father’s death had left her devastated, and she couldn’t help blaming Matt for ruining the last weeks of his life. David Bellamy had been a hero, helping to organise the funeral for her and offering her her old job back. A situation she’d been glad to accept when she’d discovered her father had been practically destitute when he died.

Turning from the mirror, she went into the bedroom and tried to distract herself by admiring the beauty of her surroundings. Pale walls, pale rugs, and a pale satin bedspread on the wide colonial bed. The colour in the bedroom was provided by exotically patterned cushions and curtains. Paintings of Indian masks and other spiritual objects on the walls were meant to remind the visitor of the area’s Native American heritage.

The house was two-storey, stuccoed, with a red-tiled roof and grounds spread over a couple of acres at the end of a gated cul-de-sac. The whole area was criss-crossed by canals, where just occasionally you might glimpse a manatee. The drive leading up to Matt’s parents’ house ended beside a mission-style Spanish fountain. The steady splash of water on the mossy layers of stone was always present, creating a soothing retreat from the busy world outside.

Joanna had been here before, visiting his parents on a couple of occasions. Though remembering Adrienne’s attitude towards her then, she hadn’t been sorry to avoid them in recent months.

All the same, the suite Adrienne had reluctantly provided for her use was very appealing. It was all very civilised; very inviting. Nevertheless, Joanna knew that without Adrienne’s intrusion she’d have told Matt immediately what she wanted and hightailed it back to the hotel. That had been the plan, anyway. The only thing was, after learning how he still felt about her, she doubted he’d have been willing to grant her request.

She had to come up with a Plan B. Tomorrow afternoon, she’d intended to fly back to London. The trouble was, by giving in to his request to stay for dinner, she didn’t have time to devise an alternative plan.

A faint draught of warm air drifted in through the open windows. Ivory sheers shifted sensuously, and Joanna moved the curtains aside to slide back the long French doors.

Stepping out onto her own private balcony, she breathed in the exotic scents from the garden. Lilies, fuchsias, the heady scent of night jasmine. The humidity was great, as it always was at this time of the year. Early summer in England was not the most appealing time to come to Florida.

Perhaps she should just cut her losses and leave.

The arrival of a maid to tell her drinks were being served in the family room downstairs baulked that possibility. This was it, she thought. Fight or flight? Well, she’d never been a coward, and surely nothing Adrienne Novak said could hurt her now.

As she walked along the landing to the curving marble staircase she saw no one. Below, the marble-tiled foyer was deserted, too. The family room was to her right, a comfortable space, with leather chairs and sofas. A drinks cabinet offered refreshment, and an elegant baby grand piano stood beside the windows at the other side of the room.

When Joanna paused in the doorway, she could smell the flowers that filled the tiled hearth, and the not unpleasant aromas of alcohol and tobacco. But the room itself appeared to be unoccupied as well.

Like the foyer, the lighting was mellow and subdued, and it wasn’t surprising that Joanna thought she was alone. But then a figure emerged from the shadows beside the fireplace. A tall figure, lean and saturnine, in a suit and shirt so dark a grey they appeared black.

Matt.

CHAPTER THREE

JOANNA’S MOUTH DRIED. Surely, they were not dining alone.

‘Jo,’ Matt said, moving towards her, his low voice so familiar, so disturbing to her ears that she caught her breath. ‘You look refreshed. Did you rest for a while?’

‘Just for a few minutes,’ said Joanna, well aware that she hadn’t relaxed at all. His clean masculine scent drifted to her nostrils but she endeavoured to ignore it. ‘Where is—’ she almost said ‘your mother’, before amending it to ‘—everyone?’

‘They’re coming,’ said Matt smoothly. He surveyed her with dark expressive eyes. ‘You look very beautiful this evening, Jo.’

‘Thank you.’ But Joanna stiffened, touching the low neckline of the tunic with a nervous finger. She was tempted to check the hemline, too, to pull it further down if that was possible, but she restrained herself. ‘Um—how long has Sophie been here?’ she asked, desperate to keep their conversation from becoming personal. ‘Is she staying long?’

‘As long as my mother is prepared to have her,’ he replied drily. ‘Since the divorce, she spends a lot of time here.’

Joanna nodded. Sophie and her ex-husband had divorced before Matt’s father had been taken ill. Joanna had wondered if the break-up of Sophie’s marriage had contributed to Oliver Novak’s stroke.

‘Well—it was nice to see her again,’ Joanna continued, when the silence became unbearable. She paused, and then, refusing to be diverted, ‘Did your mother show you my emails at last?’

Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘I assume that’s your way of asking if I now know why you’re here.’

Joanna shrugged. ‘I would have preferred to speak to you in private. That was why I planned to stay at the hotel.’

‘There’s no hurry.’ Matt lifted his shoulders indifferently. ‘Let me get you a drink. That might help you to relax.’

‘I am relaxed.’ Though of course she wasn’t. Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘Why can’t we get right to the point?’

Matt ignored her outburst, approaching the drinks cabinet and holding up a bottle of Chardonnay for her inspection. With some misgivings, she nodded, and as he poured he added smoothly, ‘You are still my wife, Jo. That gives me some privileges, I think.’

He handed her a glass and she took it with great care, avoiding touching his fingers. Then, after swallowing a mouthful of wine, she tried again. ‘You know I didn’t want to come here.’

Matt sighed. ‘Believe it or not, but I’d gathered that. Don’t you think we should take a little time to talk about this?’

‘What is there to talk about?’ asked Joanna tightly. ‘I want a divorce. It’s as simple as that.’

‘What a pity.’ Matt spoke neutrally. ‘And here was I, hoping you might stay for a couple of days.’

Joanna stared at him. ‘You are joking!’

‘No.’ Matt was annoyingly composed.

Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to stay here when—when your mother obviously hates my guts!’

Matt shrugged. ‘And is that the only reason you’re declining my invitation?’

‘Of course not.’ Joanna was frustrated. ‘I just don’t think there’s any point in dragging this out.’

Matt was silent for a moment, and then he added tersely, ‘You know, I could do without your animosity. These past few weeks, recovering from that blasted bug, have been hell on earth, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they have, Matt, but—’

‘But you’re not interested.’ Matt’s tone had roughened with emotion, and, closing the short distance between them, his hands gripped the tops of her bare arms and he drew her towards him. ‘This isn’t over, Jo,’ he said. ‘Not nearly.’ And before she could do more than draw a startled breath, he bent his head and kissed her mouth.

‘Matt!’

The word was muffled and her glass was in serious danger of spilling its contents over the Indian rug. She endeavoured to take a step back, but he was too strong for her. His tongue brushed her lips, and when she resisted his efforts to enter her mouth, he growled his frustration.

‘I still want you,’ he said, staring down at her, and, God help her, Joanna felt her knees go weak.

‘Don’t,’ she said, hearing the huskiness in her voice, but unable to do anything about it. ‘This is not why I made this trip.’

‘I know.’ Matt released her abruptly and turned away, and she staggered a little as she tried to save her wine. ‘I just don’t believe our marriage is over.’

Joanna caught her breath. She was annoyingly aware that she’d bitten her tongue in her efforts to calm herself. ‘We’ve lived apart for almost a year, Matt.’

‘What does that prove?’ Matt snorted. ‘We’ve been living on different continents, sure, but the connection between us never relied on distance, did it?’

‘Matt, please. This is getting us nowhere.’

Forced to look away, she touched the tip of her tongue with an exploring finger, feeling for the blood she was sure she could taste. She was totally unaware of how provocative her action was until she saw Matt watching her, following her probing finger with his eyes.

Oh, Lord!

Pulling her hand away from her mouth, she noticed, belatedly, that he didn’t have a glass. And, in an effort to change the subject, she said shortly, ‘Aren’t you joining me?’

‘Alcohol and drugs don’t mix,’ he replied flatly. ‘Now, do you want to tell me why you want a divorce?’

Taking another swallow of wine, she added tensely, ‘Let’s not do this, Matt.’

Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that divorces in this country are ten a penny.’ He paused. ‘Provided they are uncontested.’

‘I do know that, yes.’

‘So, you expect me to roll over, right? Isn’t that what you said in your emails?’ His eyes swept insolently over her, and she was supremely conscious of the flimsy fabric of the tunic and her bare legs beneath. ‘I have to say, you don’t waste words.’

Joanna sighed, guessing Adrienne had shown him one of the later messages she’d sent when impatience had made her less tactful than before. ‘I don’t believe I said I expected you to roll over,’ she responded defensively. ‘I thought you were deliberately ignoring me.’

‘As you would.’ Matt was sardonic. ‘But you’re my wife, Joanna, and if I have my way, you will remain so.’

‘You can’t make me,’ she said, and then could have bitten her tongue—metaphorically this time—at the childishness of her words.

She attempted to take another gulp of her wine and was dismayed to find the glass was empty. She took a steadying breath. She was allowing him to get the upper hand, and she’d only had one glass.

Matt hesitated, and just when she was afraid he was going to touch her again, he lifted his hands in a defeated gesture and crossed the room to seat himself at the piano.

With his fingers running idly over the keys, he said, ‘Tell me, why didn’t you touch any of the funds I deposited to your bank account in London?’ He paused. ‘You didn’t have to go back to work at Bellamy’s gallery.’

‘I wanted to.’ Joanna found herself approaching the drinks cabinet and lifting the bottle of Chardonnay. ‘I don’t need your money, Matt,’ she assured him, filling her glass. ‘I told you that when—when—’

‘When you stormed out of our apartment in London?’ Matt suggested mildly, the strains of an old George Michael song emerging from the keys. ‘I know what you said, Jo. Your words are imprinted on my soul.’

Joanna shivered in spite of the warmth of the evening. ‘Do you have a soul, Matt?’ she queried, trying to be flippant, and then gasped in dismay when he slammed the lid of the piano and got to his feet.

‘You’d better believe it,’ he snapped, covering the space between them so quickly that Joanna, who had been drifting unknowingly towards the music, suddenly found him only inches away. ‘I am not the devil incarnate, Jo, no matter what lies your father told you.’

‘Don’t bring Daddy into this.’

‘Why not? He’s the real villain here, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘He’s dead,’ said Joanna defensively. ‘You can’t blame a dead man for your mistakes.’

‘My mistakes?’ Matt was angry. ‘You are such a cliché, do you know that? You keep bringing up trivial things that have no bearing on this conversation. In an effort to try and justify what Angus did.’

‘He didn’t do anything wrong!’

‘Oh, I know that’s what you think. I heard the eulogies at his funeral.’ Matt was bitter. ‘I was there at the funeral, Jo. You didn’t know that, did you? I was tactful enough to guess you wouldn’t want to see me. But I saw you, Joanna, with Bellamy.’

‘David’s a good friend,’ Joanna protested, but Matt ignored her words.

Joanna had always denied that the gallery owner had any feelings for her, but it was Bellamy she’d turned to when Angus Carlyle had died; Bellamy who’d re-employed her and probably found her somewhere else to live.

She’d moved out of their London apartment, probably afraid he might turn up and demand his rights as her husband. As if he’d ever done anything but protect her interests.

Anger gave way to frustration, and, to Joanna’s alarm, his hand came to cup her face. His thumb brushed the high colour nesting on her cheekbones and then found the startled contours of her mouth.

He’d barely touched her, but Joanna felt as if he were branding her. Almost without her volition, her lips parted, and she tasted him on her tongue. The heat spreading from his fingers seared her throat and breasts, breasts that were suddenly swollen and taut with need.

There was a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, too, as nervous tension gripped her abdomen. She felt her muscles tighten, her breath grow shallow, as an unwilling awareness of her vulnerability where this man was concerned weakened her knees.

She was gripping her glass with slippery fingers, and realised she was losing control.

Matt was staring at her, and awareness flared like a flame between them, burning them with its fire. She didn’t honestly know what might have happened next if someone hadn’t interrupted them; if another voice hadn’t chosen that moment to coldly break the spell.

‘For God’s sake, Matt! What is going on?’

Adrienne’s voice was shrill and accusatory, and Joanna despised herself for allowing such a situation to develop. Whatever defence she’d had before would be as nothing now. His mother was bound to think she’d had an ulterior motive for coming here.

Matt, however, seemed indifferent to his mother’s arrival. Although he drew back from Joanna, his response revealed his impatience at her words. ‘Keep out of it, Ma,’ he said, his hand lingering in the small of Joanna’s back. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

Adrienne looked wounded. ‘Matt!’ she protested, and, although her son still looked grim, he got control of himself.

Apparently intending to placate her, he released Joanna and said curtly, ‘Do you want a drink?’

His mother was evidently in two minds, but she chose the least provoking option. ‘Wine, please,’ she said, her gaze flickering over Joanna’s glass. ‘I’ll have red, if you don’t mind.’

Joanna was drinking white, but she was so relieved that Matt had moved away from her that she didn’t make any comment. In any case, it was just another attempt to annoy her, and she wouldn’t give Adrienne the satisfaction of retaliation.

Taking the time to study her adversary, she had to admit the woman had changed little in the year since they’d last met. Adrienne’s dark hair might owe more to her hairdresser these days than it did to nature. But her slender build gave her a youthful appearance. If only her hostility towards her daughter-in-law didn’t draw her mouth into that thin hostile line.

Matt handed his mother her glass and refilled Joanna’s without her permission. But, what the hell? she thought recklessly, taking another gulp of the deliciously cool liquid. She needed all the courage, real or artificial, that she could get.

After drinking a little of her wine, Adrienne turned to Joanna again. ‘Sophie tells me you’re staying at the Corcovado. How long are you planning to stay in Miami?’

Joanna shrugged. ‘Until tomorrow.’ She refused to prevaricate, even if she sensed Matt’s anger at her words.

Adrienne forced a tight smile. ‘Perhaps you should have let us know you were coming.’

‘Why?’ Joanna was tired of defending herself. ‘So you could have kept that news from Matt, as well?’

Adrienne gasped. ‘How dare you?’ she began, but Matt broke in before she could continue.

‘It’s the truth, Ma, and you know it. I’ll let you know how long Jo is staying after we’ve talked.’

He returned the bottle of white wine to its tray, his eyes boring into Joanna’s, cautioning her not to argue with him. And, although she would have liked to refute his words, there was still a certain pleasure to be had in thwarting his mother.

Adrienne’s lips thinned. ‘I understood from your correspondence that you intended to ask Matt for a divorce. I don’t see what there is to talk about.’

Joanna would have answered her, but Matt chose to intervene. ‘If you hadn’t chosen to keep Joanna’s correspondence to yourself, I might have phoned her,’ he said mildly. His hand returned to the sensitive hollow of Joanna’s spine. ‘As it is, we have the opportunity to speak to one another face to face.’

Once again, Joanna attempted to move away from him to dislodge those cool fingers that were threatening to unnerve her. But her breathless silence was an admission of his dominance, nevertheless. And although it galled her to admit it, she knew that right now he had the upper hand.

‘I’m sure Dad would be most disappointed if we didn’t make her welcome,’ Matt continued, his tone mellowing. Probably because he thought he was getting his own way, thought Joanna, in frustration. ‘He was delighted to hear that she was here.’

‘You’ve spoken with your father?’ Adrienne was obviously disconcerted and Joanna guessed Matt’s mother had hoped to keep her husband in ignorance of what she’d done.

‘Of course, I’ve spoken with him,’ responded Matt, as his sister came into the room to join them. He looked again at Joanna. ‘Let me refresh your glass.’

Once again, to her dismay, Joanna saw her glass was almost empty. She hadn’t been aware of swallowing the wine, but her nerves were all over the place so she obviously had.

‘Um—thanks,’ she said, ignoring Adrienne’s disapproval, and found a smile for her sister-in-law when Sophie complimented her on her dress.

Thankfully, Sophie’s arrival did take a little of the pressure off. The young woman might be Matt’s sister, but she’d never been able to twist her mother round her little finger as her brother could do. In consequence, Adrienne turned her wrath on her daughter, berating her for not being here sooner and criticising her outfit.

Sophie was wearing a wraparound sheath dress in a rather striking orange linen. Not the shade Joanna would have chosen, but it suited Sophie’s dark colouring.

Joanna accepted more wine, but, despite Sophie’s friendly chatter, she was overwhelmingly aware of Matt’s brooding expression, his dour countenance colouring her mood.

She should have refused his invitation, she thought. Being civil was getting them nowhere. And whatever she did, Adrienne would never compromise.

They ate in a small dining room overlooking the floodlit patio. It was near the kitchen and was much less intimidating than the formal one Joanna remembered when she and Matt were last here. Conversation wasn’t easy. The only consolation was that Adrienne disliked the situation as much as she did.

However, when Sophie’s attempt to ask her about her work at the art gallery brought a scowl of disapproval from both her mother and her brother, Joanna chose to speak her mind.

Ignoring Matt’s warning gaze, she said, ‘I enjoy my work, Sophie. I may not be a painter myself, but I have learned to recognise talent when I see it. We—that is the gallery owner and myself—occasionally give unknown painters a showcase for their work. Sort of an amateur exhibition. But you’d be amazed how many of them go on to become professional artists.’

Sophie nodded. ‘I envy you, you know. Before I married Jon, I had a job working in the oil business. Not for Dad or Matt, of course. An independent company. And I really enjoyed it. I think I might look for something similar again.’

‘Good for you.’ Joanna smiled at her. ‘I know I’d miss working at the gallery.’

‘Well, there are lots of art galleries in New York,’ exclaimed Sophie at once. ‘Now that you have no ties holding you to London, you could work for one of the galleries there. Don’t you agree, Matt?’

Matt didn’t answer. Nevertheless, his silence was annoyingly compliant, and Adrienne had heard enough. ‘I think not,’ she said, giving her daughter an impatient look. ‘Joanna isn’t staying in Miami, Sophie. She’s here to speak to Matt about a—a—’ She hesitated uncertainly, obviously aware of Matt’s narrow-eyed disapproval. ‘Um—about a personal matter,’ she finished awkwardly. ‘She’ll be going back to London tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Joanna?’

Before Joanna had a chance to answer, Sophie’s face clouded with disappointment. She’d clearly understood what her mother was trying to say. Her jaw dropped as she turned to her brother. ‘That’s why Joanna booked a room at the Corcovado, isn’t it?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve asked her for a divorce?’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I HAVE NOT asked Joanna for a divorce,’ Matt responded harshly. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours, Sophie. Joanna’s reasons for being here are not your concern.’

Joanna looked sympathetically at the other girl. ‘It’s me who wants the divorce,’ Joanna said now, ignoring the others. ‘It’s hardly a secret,’ she added, giving Matt a defiant look. ‘But thanks for the support.’

‘Nevertheless, it is not something to be gossiped about within the hearing of servants,’ retorted Adrienne coldly, but now that Sophie had broken the ice, Joanna could stay silent no longer.

‘I suggest it’s not up to you to decide,’ she declared curtly, addressing her mother-in-law. ‘Or has reading my husband’s emails persuaded you that you should have the final word?’

‘If I had you would not be here!’ retorted Adrienne at once, but when she looked to her son again, maybe in the hope of his endorsement, it seemed Matt had had enough.

Ignoring all of them, he got up from the table to pour himself another soda, and Joanna couldn’t decide whether he was being deliberately rude or simply indifferent.

‘Well, I won’t intrude on your family any longer,’ she declared stiffly, addressing herself to Adrienne as Matt didn’t return to the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.’

She’d barely eaten a thing, but she felt sick anyway. A green salad, rich with herbs and sprinkled with parmesan, had been followed by a seafood ravioli that should have melted in her mouth. But all Joanna had been able to think about was how soon this agony would be over. She’d already decided to hand any further negotiations over to the London solicitors, and go back to London on the first available plane.

She left the room without another word, aware that both women were expecting Matt to stop her. But he didn’t, although she was sure his eyes followed her progress. With a feeling of relief, she hurried across the foyer and ran up the stairs.

By the time she reached the suite, Joanna’s legs were shaky. Her mobile phone was in her bag and she intended to call a taxi to take her back to the hotel immediately. Matt could deal with the fallout, if there was any. He was very good at that.

Someone had been in the room in her absence. The bed had been turned down, and she wondered who had thought she might be staying the night. Matt, perhaps, she decided tightly. He was very good at ignoring her feelings, too.

After glancing a little tensely around the room, she headed for the bathroom. Despite refusing the dessert, she still felt decidedly unwell. Too many glasses of wine, she thought, peering at her face in the mirror. She only hoped she could get back to the hotel without throwing up.

She was leaning on the hand basin, with her eyes closed, when someone spoke.

‘Are you all right?’

Her eyes shot open in alarm. Matt was leaning against the open door of the bathroom, a look of mild concern on his lean dark face. A face she’d once loved, she thought, hating herself for the memory. Had that face betrayed her and her father without a second thought?

Matt had shed his jacket and tie and now the cuffs of his shirt were turned back over lean brown forearms lightly spread with dark hair. Despite her anger at him, she felt her stomach quiver at the unwelcome acknowledgement of his magnetism. Whatever she did, however she felt, she couldn’t deny her unwilling response to his sexual appeal.

But this wouldn’t do. Schooling her features, she said, ‘What are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you in.’

Matt shrugged his broad shoulders, muscles moving sinuously beneath the fine silk of his dark shirt. ‘You didn’t,’ he agreed, and then was forced to step aside as she brushed past him to get into the bedroom. ‘Still better in health than temper, I see.’

Joanna pursed her lips. ‘Don’t make fun of me.’

‘Believe it or not, I was concerned about you.’ Matt tucked his hands beneath his arms to quell the urge he had to reach out to her. He surveyed her closely. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You looked very pale when you left the dining room.’

‘I didn’t think you’d noticed.’

‘I noticed.’

Joanna knew a feeling of defeat. She was never going to win where Matt was concerned. All the same, if she’d suspected he might follow her, she’d have wedged the back of a chair under the handle of the door rather than face another argument.

‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’ she asked wearily, refusing to give in to the tears that were threatening to complete her humiliation. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi.’

Matt blew out a breath. ‘You haven’t had time,’ he stated flatly. He paused. ‘You insist on going back to the hotel, then?’

‘Of course. I’m not welcome here.’

‘I want you to stay.’

‘Yes, I know what you want. But this is your mother’s house and I don’t intend to stay here any longer than it takes for a taxi to come and pick me up.’

‘It’s my father’s house, but we won’t quibble about ownership.’ He paused. ‘Please. Cancel the room at the hotel and stay. We need to talk.’

‘We have talked, Matt.’

‘Not enough.’ His brows drew together. ‘Are you afraid of me, Jo?’

Joanna’s lips parted. ‘No,’ she said defiantly, although she was. Afraid of her own vulnerability where he was concerned at least.

‘Yet you insist on running out on me. Again.’

Joanna caught her breath. ‘All right,’ she said, knowing she’d regret the words as soon as they were spoken. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Come to the hotel in the morning, and we’ll have breakfast together. Okay?’

Half an hour later, Joanna stared out of the window of the sleek Mercedes saloon Matt was driving, amazed at how quiet the streets were at this hour of the evening. But she could hear music thumping from a boom box somewhere and the unmistakeable sound of laughter that seemed to be coming from the roofs of the hotels and apartment buildings they passed.

Not that she was truly interested in the parties being held in high rises and condominiums alike, or the brilliantly illuminated stretches of open parkland on Biscayne Boulevard. It was simply better than acknowledging that once again Matt had got his way.

She should have known he wouldn’t let her get away that easily, and she hadn’t argued when Matt had told her he would be driving her back to her hotel. Besides, in all honesty, she was glad to be with someone she knew; even her husband. Just in case she did want to throw up.

He’d been waiting for her when she’d come downstairs. Sophie had been with him, and for once her sister-in-law had had little to say. ‘I hope we see you soon,’ she’d murmured as they’d stepped out into the humid evening air. ‘Don’t blame Matt for my mother’s behaviour, will you? She’s always been ridiculously possessive of her only son.’

As if Joanna didn’t know that.

It didn’t take long to reach Miami Beach. Matt drove over one of the causeways that separated the Beach from Miami proper and then cruised along Collins Avenue to where the Corcovado Hotel occupied a prime spot overlooking the ocean.

The grounds were spectacular. Acres of palm-strewn patios, outdoor cafés and bars, even an Olympic-size swimming pool, floodlit and busy with holidaymakers.

The humidity seemed more intense when Joanna stepped out of the car. Matt had brought the Mercedes to a halt under the awning by the entrance to the hotel, and Joanna didn’t waste any time before hurrying towards the automatic doors.

Her casual ‘See you tomorrow’ should have sealed the deal. But the doors had hardly closed behind her before she became aware that someone else was on her heels.

Glancing round, she wasn’t surprised to find it was Matt, but that didn’t stop her from feeling a surge of resentment at his persistence. ‘What do you want now?’ she demanded, feeling the heat rising up her face at the knowledge that their conversation could be clearly overheard by other guests. ‘I’ve said I’ll see you in the morning and I will.’

Matt’s dark brows arched impatiently. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t escort you to your room?’

‘I don’t need an escort,’ she said, aware that two women, waiting at the check-in desk, were keeping a surreptitious eye on both of them. But most particularly on Matt.

And why not? she thought irritably. Without his jacket, his shirt half unbuttoned because of the heat, he looked far more at home in these luxurious surroundings than she did. Tall and lean, with a touch of the café-au-lait skin tone of some distant ancestor, he was perfectly in control of himself and of the situation, she thought.

Joanna tried to avoid looking at him, but it was difficult. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the open neckline of his shirt, to the triangle of dark hair visible on his chest. His lips had parted enquiringly, and Joanna felt her instinctive response. They were thin lips, hard and masculine, and Joanna knew they could be both tenderly soft and brutally cruel.

She swallowed. He wasn’t moving and she really didn’t need this. ‘Okay,’ she said, fumbling in her bag for the booking information she’d downloaded to her phone. ‘You can see me to the lift. But that’s all.’

It was only as she studied the phone that she remembered she had still to check in. Learning that Matt had been seriously ill and giving in to Sophie’s invitation to drive to the villa, she hadn’t confirmed the booking or paid the deposit required, which she’d promised to do as soon as she left the airport. Such trivial details had gone completely out of her head.

What if they’d given her room to someone else?

Damn!

Taking a breath, she turned to him and said, ‘I’ve not checked in yet.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s a queue, and there’s really no need for you to stay.’

Matt felt the kind of tension he hadn’t felt since they were last together. The muscles in his stomach clenched as he said, ‘You’re sure you have a room here?’

‘As sure as I can be.’ Joanna didn’t want to face the alternative. ‘I phoned the hotel from the airport.’

Matt’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘From the airport?’ he echoed incredulously.

Joanna straightened her spine. ‘Look, when I left New York, I didn’t know if you were staying in Miami. All I knew was that I wouldn’t have time to hire a car and drive out to Coral Gables and back in a couple of hours. I was going to phone you, but I needed somewhere to stay, and I remembered—well, I remembered we’d stayed here before.’

‘So we did.’ Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘I’m flattered you recall our visits.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I suppose I had thoughts of asking you to join me here for dinner.’

‘To talk, I assume,’ he remarked, still somewhat sarcastically, and Joanna’s lips tightened.

‘I thought that was what you wanted.’

Matt lifted his shoulders dismissively. ‘And Sophie changed your mind?’

‘Well, yes.’ Joanna took another steadying breath. ‘She told me you’d been ill and—and I was concerned.’

‘How sweet!’

Matt gave a mocking laugh and rocked back on the heels of his suede loafers. That was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

Joanna resented his reaction. ‘I’d be concerned about anyone in similar circumstances,’ she declared, avoiding the lazy beauty of his eyes. ‘Just because I felt sorry for you—’

Matt grimaced then. ‘I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me,’ he told her shortly. ‘I’ve had a surfeit of that already.’

Clicking her tongue impatiently, she stepped up to the end of the line. ‘Why don’t you just go, Matt?’ she demanded, glancing about her. ‘You’re just wasting your time here.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he countered, and Joanna gave him an exasperated look.

‘All right, then,’ she said tightly, turning her back on him. ‘But you’re going to have to wait. I haven’t even registered yet.’

‘So you said.’

Matt sounded thoughtful, but after a few moments she heard the unmistakeable sound of him walking away. Oh, well, she thought, telling herself she was relieved. It was what she’d wanted. She wouldn’t have liked him leaning over her shoulder while she filled in the forms.

When someone touched her arm a few moments later, she swung round, firmly believing Matt had decided to return. But instead it was someone called George Szudek. The Hotel Manager, or so it said on the badge he was wearing on his lapel.

He was a stocky individual, with a bald head and a full beard and moustache. He greeted her with a smile and gently urged her across the lobby to the open door of his office.

‘Mrs Novak,’ he said politely, guiding her into the room. ‘I believe I can be of some assistance to you and your husband.’

CHAPTER FIVE

JOANNA REALISED SHE should have anticipated something like this when Matt disappeared. Because, of course, her husband had been waiting for them in the manager’s office.

Matt had been standing by the windows, looking out on the manicured golf course at this side of the hotel. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his pants, his shoulders broad beneath the heat-dampened silk of his shirt.

And despite herself, Joanna felt a pang, not unlike the pang she’d felt when Matt and his father had first walked into the Bellamy Gallery all those years ago.

David had been hosting another of those evenings for new artists, and apparently one of his flyers had found its way into the lobby of the Novaks’ hotel. Matt had told her his father had persuaded him to come; light relief after a day of boardroom politics. But he’d told Joanna that as soon as he’d seen her he’d been very glad he had…

Joanna looked round the gallery with a feeling of pride. The place was full, patrons and visitors milling about, helping themselves to a glass of wine or a canapé, offering silent and not so silent opinions of the paintings on display.

And she’d arranged it all, she thought with pride. She’d sent out the invitations, arranged for flyers to be placed in hotel lobbies, made the event sound so attractive that any visitor to the capital might be intrigued by its originality.

The young artist they were showcasing, Damon Ford, was a minor celebrity in his own right after winning a gold medal in athletics at the last Olympics.

But in spite of this success, Joanna believed that his art was the real attraction here. His work was an abstract palette with no perspective in visual reality. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but in a world where fantasy had become so popular, Damon’s imagery struck a chord.

‘A good turn-out.’

David Bellamy, the man who owned the gallery and her boss, spoke the words with some satisfaction.

‘You’ve done good, Joanna. Damon should be pleased.’

Joanna smiled. ‘Oh, he is. I spoke to him a few moments ago, and he’s really excited to see his work enjoying such success. It depends whether anyone buys anything, of course, but I saw the Arts Editor from the Evening Gazette just now and he seemed very impressed.’

She looked eagerly about her. Yes, she thought, her instincts had been right. Damon was that unusual thing: an artist who cared, not just about his work, but also about pleasing his public.

Her eyes scanned the crowd as they had been doing all evening and came to rest on two men who had just come in. They were both tall and dark, but the younger man was slightly taller than his companion, with the kind of dark penetrating gaze that sought Joanna out and found her—staring at him.

Oh, God, she thought, looking away, embarrassment filling her face with what she was sure was unbecoming colour. An unfamiliar fluttering began in the pit of her stomach, and she pressed a nervous hand to her midriff. He would think she was trying to attract his attention, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Nevertheless, she managed to appear composed when the man in question pushed his way through the crowd to join her.

‘Hi,’ he said, with the kind of lazy smile that brought goose bumps out all over her skin, ‘I understand you’re the artist here.’

His accent revealed he was from the other side of the Atlantic and Joanna was taken aback. ‘Oh—oh, no,’ she said hurriedly. ‘No, I’m not the artist. I just helped to organise the event.’

‘That’s what I meant,’ he said easily. ‘This is some classy affair you’ve put on.’

‘Do you think so?’ Joanna couldn’t help being flattered. It was one thing for David to say she’d done a good job and quite another for one of their guests to compliment her.

‘Sure.’ He glanced about him. ‘So—do you want to show me where can I get a drink around here?’

Nevertheless, she’d quickly realised that it was not the time to be thinking about the past. Matt had heard their entrance and swung round to look at them, and, although she’d been tempted to turn on her heel and march back out of the door, defiance, and the knowledge that she’d only embarrass the manager, had kept her where she was.

In consequence, the man was now opening the door of an invitingly lamplit suite on the eighteenth floor, ushering them both inside, just as if Matt was staying the night.

‘If there is anything else I can do for you, Mr Novak,’ he said, irritating Joanna anew by addressing Matt, ‘you have only to let me know.’ He handed him the key card. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ agreed Matt, his hand compelling Joanna forward, a silent warning not to argue. ‘Thanks for your help, George. I won’t forget it.’

The manager lifted a self-deprecating hand, and, with another smile in Joanna’s direction, he stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. And the minute the door was closed, Joanna moved abruptly out of Matt’s possessive reach.

‘I suppose you expect me to be grateful,’ she said, aware of the disagreeableness of her tone. ‘Well, okay, I appreciate not having to stand in a queue, but I would just as soon be in one of the standard rooms.’

Matt snorted. ‘How did I know you were going to say something like that?’ He strolled across the sitting room to where sliding glass doors opened onto a private balcony. ‘You might like to step outside and admire the view,’ he added, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘You can hear the ocean from here.’

‘And feel the humidity,’ retorted Joanna, making no attempt to join him. The manager had carried her bag upstairs and now she picked it up to carry into the adjoining bedroom. But the realisation that Matt would probably follow her if she did had her setting it down again. ‘Please, close the windows and go.’

‘‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? I’d have thought it was the least you could do after the efforts I’ve made on your behalf,’ remarked Matt tolerantly, but he did at least part of what she’d asked and slid the window closed.

Efforts I didn’t ask you to make, thought Joanna uncharitably.

Glancing round, she saw the small fridge, masquerading as a polished cabinet.

‘Help yourself. You’re paying for it.’

Matt crossed the room and plucked a can of cola from inside the cabinet and inclined his head. ‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said, her tone indicating the opposite. Then, she added, ‘You’re not going to change my mind, you know.’

‘Okay.’ Matt shrugged. ‘But as you said, we’ll talk about it in the morning.’

‘Is there any point?’

‘I hope so.’ Matt raised the can to his lips and took a drink, and then looked around the room. ‘This reminds me of the suite we occupied the first time I brought you here.’ He took the step that allowed him to glance through the bedroom door. ‘Yeah, I remember they had to come and change the bed because we’d made love in the shower and we were still soaked when we—’

Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘Stop it,’ she said, unable to deny the images his words had created. She took a steadying breath. ‘Is—is your father enjoying his return to work?’

‘My father?’ If Matt was disconcerted by her segue into another subject entirely, he didn’t comment upon it. ‘I think he was fairly keen to take over when I was incapacitated, if that’s what you mean. My mother less so.’

Joanna draped a hand over the back of a chair. ‘So what’s new?’ she murmured drily. ‘Adrienne likes her men to be where she can keep an eye on them.’

‘Which would account, I suppose, for her keeping your emails secret. She’d have known I’d have flown to England in a heartbeat if I’d known you wanted to see me.’

Joanna, whose eyes had been glued to the muscles moving in his throat, dragged her gaze away. ‘I assume that goes for the messages you supposedly sent me?’

Matt rolled the cool can sensuously against his throat. ‘There’s no “supposedly” about it,’ he declared, and Joanna’s eyes were drawn to him again. ‘I was beginning to think that you might not want to come and see the invalid.’

‘If I’d known…’ Joanna began and then broke off.

What if she had known Matt was ill, she wondered, what would she have done? Truthfully, she didn’t know.

But Matt wasn’t inclined to let her get away with it. ‘If you’d known—what? Dare I hope you might have been concerned enough to make the trip for that reason and that reason alone?’

Joanna had to be honest. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘You’d have been too busy?’

‘No. But I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to see me.’

‘I see.’ Matt considered her response, and then offered a segue of his own. ‘Tell me, is Bellamy still playing a prominent role in your life?’

Joanna swallowed. ‘Please, leave David out of this.’

Matt’s eyes glittered. ‘So tell me, how do you fill your time? Going to the theatre? Visiting the gym?’

‘I have friends,’ said Joanna curtly. ‘And occasionally we eat out together. Not David,’ she added, seeing his expression. ‘Other friends. And I’ve spent some time with Mum and Lionel.’

‘Have you?’ Matt was impressed. ‘I thought you didn’t get on.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘Things are different now.’

‘Since your father died?’ Matt enquired sardonically. ‘Yes, I can believe that. You know, I always felt sorry for your mother. Angus had virtually cut her off from her only offspring. And all because he was jealous.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why? It’s the truth. He never forgave Glenys for leaving him and he used you to get his revenge.’

‘No!’

Matt shrugged. ‘Have it your way,’ he said wearily. ‘One day you’ll come to your senses and see the truth. That explosion off the Alaskan coast wasn’t the fault of NovCo. We didn’t become as successful as we have by cutting corners on our equipment.’

‘Nor did Daddy,’ she countered hotly and for a moment Matt was inclined to let it go.

But, dear God, she’d believed Angus’s lies for over a year, and Matt was damned if he was going to let her go on believing her father was an angel.

‘So did Angus tell you we paid the hefty penalty the Alaskan authorities demanded out of the goodness of our hearts?’ He shook his head. ‘It was to protect you, Joanna. I know you don’t believe me, but your father had been cheating his workforce for years.’

Joanna felt a shiver of apprehension slide down her spine. What if she was wrong? What if her father had been lying? She wrapped her arms about herself, needing the protection. ‘I don’t want to talk about this, Matt.’

‘No, I bet you bloody don’t.’ Matt was angry now and he didn’t think before grasping one of her arms and jerking her round to face him. ‘You can’t accept the truth when it’s staring you in the face.’ His hot breath fanned across her cheek. ‘Damn you, Joanna. I swore I wouldn’t do this, but I care about you.’

Joanna lips parted. She hadn’t expected him to say that. Her heart was racing and she could feel the perspiration trickling down her spine. ‘I’m only here because I want a divorce,’ she insisted doggedly. ‘Not to rehash old grievances.’

‘You’re afraid to face the truth,’ retorted Matt harshly. ‘You’re letting your father ruin your life.’ His lean fingers dug into the bones of her shoulders. ‘Wherever he is right now, I bet the old devil is clapping his hands at your naivety.’

‘Daddy said you only married me to get control of his company.’

Matt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and I were an item long before Angus decided to use me to get him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.’

Joanna and Matt married only six months after they’d met at the gallery showing. Matt knew her father didn’t approve of the speed with which they’d got together—nor did his mother, if it came to that—but he and Joanna were in love and nothing else seemed to matter.

And those first few months they were deliriously happy.

They honeymooned in Fiji and then moved into the apartment Matt had acquired on the Upper East Side of New York. They had an apartment in London, too, but it was the New York apartment that they regarded as home.

And it was a beautiful apartment, overlooking the East river, with plenty of room for themselves and a family when it came along. They had staff in both places, but Joanna liked looking after her husband herself. And the dinner parties she gave accrued many compliments from friends and business colleagues alike.

Matt suspected the fact that Joanna didn’t get pregnant during the second year of their marriage was a significant contribution to the problems that came after. He knew she wanted a baby, and he wanted it too, but two things happened in swift succession to make it even harder for them to have their wish.

To begin with Oliver Novak had a stroke, which meant Matt had to spend more and more time controlling NovCo. And then Joanna’s father’s company was found to be in financial difficulties, necessitating a buy-out that Matt organised on Joanna’s behalf.

Matt knew Angus Carlyle resented having to ask his son-in-law for help, but Matt thought it was worth it to see the relief in Joanna’s face. Even so, he found it hard to keep the real circumstances of Carlyle Construction’s problems from her. Particularly as he guessed Angus would find some way to pay him back.

Having a baby still eluded them, however, and making love became a mechanical thing, subject to times of the month and temperatures, and not the joyful declaration of their love for one another that it used to be. They argued more when they were together, and Matt knew his wife was retreating more and more into her shell.

Her father being diagnosed with lung cancer was devastating. It meant Joanna moved into the London apartment on a permanent basis, unwilling to leave her father on his own when he had no one else. Matt didn’t like to think it, but he sensed she was relieved to move out of the New York apartment. In London, she didn’t have to face any of the albeit well-meaning questions about her possible pregnancy that she’d had to face from their friends in New York.

The disaster in the Alaskan oilfield came only weeks after Angus’s cancer diagnosis. Matt hadn’t thought at that time that it would prove the straw that broke the camel’s back. But then he’d had no idea that Angus would use the accident to destroy their marriage. He would never have believed a man in his position could be so completely cruel.

Who was it who said that no good deed ever went unpunished? Matt thought now, putting his memories of the past aside. He’d been a fool, and he knew it. But, God help him, he wanted Joanna to see the truth.

CHAPTER SIX

‘WHY DON’T YOU just accept the situation and move on?’ Joanna was saying now, and Matt gave a weary shake of his head.

‘Move on to what?’ He was annoyingly persistent.

‘I don’t know. Another woman, perhaps.’ Although that thought still had the power to upset her. ‘The—the one who’s been keeping your bed warm since we split up. You can’t pretend you’ve been lonely since I walked out.’

Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘How would you know that?’

‘I read the tabloids, Matt. I’ve seen the pictures of you with other women. You’re not exactly back-page news.’

Matt arched a mocking brow. ‘Jealous?’

‘Of course not.’ Although she had been, if she was totally honest. ‘Naturally I was interested,’ she added, trying to sound offhand. ‘You have your own life to lead. I—I never expected you to live the life of a monk.’

Matt shook his head. He had the feeling she was never going to admit to the chemistry that still flared between them. Ignoring her resistance, he cupped her nape with his free hand, tipping her face up to his.

‘Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,’ he grated roughly. ‘Tell me you don’t want to feel the thrust of my body taking possession of yours, and I’ll let you go.’

Joanna sucked in a breath; he was much closer now and twice as provocative. ‘You’re crazy!’

‘Am I?’ Matt rotated his hips against hers and she felt the unmistakeable hardness of his arousal. He took the wrist he was holding and wound it behind her back, pressing her even closer. ‘You used to like me to do this. You used to like it when I laid you out on the bed and licked my way down—’

‘Don’t say any more!’

Joanna could hardly get the words out. Against her will, her legs were trembling, and she was unable to prevent the muscled power of his thigh from forcing its way between hers.

It was weakness, pure and simple, she assured herself, but she was very much afraid he might feel the dampness at her crotch and know she was lying now.

She’d known the attraction she’d always had for him hadn’t gone away. That was why she’d fought against coming to the United States in the first place. But God help her, she’d never actually thought she might find herself in a position where she wanted to give in to it again.

Matt’s eyes darkened, and instead of lowering his mouth to hers, his expression took on a mocking slant. ‘You know,’ he said consideringly, ‘I think you would love me to seduce you, if only to prove how desperate I am.’ He paused. ‘I am right, aren’t I?’

Joanna didn’t answer, but he could feel the softening of her body, could smell the arousal of her sex. Yet, in spite of the anticipation of her soft flesh yielding to his invasion, Matt managed to push her away.

Forcing the sexual images from his mind, he said harshly, ‘You’d love me to make a fool of myself, wouldn’t you? To get down on my knees and beg you to change your mind?’

‘No!’

The word was practically wrung from her lips, but he didn’t believe her.

For a moment, he felt some sympathy, but only for a moment. ‘Well, I still have some pride.’ His lips twisted. ‘I’m out of here, Joanna. If you still want to talk in the morning, I’ll meet you for breakfast. Your choice. Goodnight.’

Joanna caught her lower lip between her teeth as he strode towards the door.

‘I didn’t want to talk to begin with,’ she shouted after him, needing to defend herself. ‘You’ve got a whole different scenario going on here and you’re making me take the blame for your mistakes.’

His smile was mocking. ‘Yeah, you go on believing that. Personally, I don’t give a damn.’

Joanna pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know why you’re saying these things,’ she persisted. ‘I didn’t ask you to get this suite. I didn’t ask you to come up here.’

‘No.’ He conceded the point. ‘I was stupid enough to think you might thank me for making life easier for you. But, I should have known better.’

‘Matt!’

He’d reached the door when she called his name, and although he glanced back over his shoulder, his lean dark face was hard and unforgiving.

‘Matt.’ She couldn’t believe she was going to say the words, but she couldn’t let him leave without some words of justification. ‘Don’t go. Not like this.’

Matt’s brows ascended. ‘Are you saying I was right?’

‘No—’ Joanna licked dry lips. ‘I mean, you can’t honestly believe that I want you to seduce me? I simply thought…’ She shrugged. ‘Can’t we still be friends?’

‘Friends!’ Matt gave a disbelieving laugh as he turned and pressed his back against the door. ‘You’re not serious?’

Joanna had the feeling that she’d had too many glasses of wine. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She’d wanted him to go, for heaven’s sake. So why was she delaying him now?

When she didn’t answer, Matt got impatient. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said roughly. ‘I suggest you go to bed. I’ll meet you in the coffee bar in the morning.’

Joanna licked her lips. ‘What if I don’t want to go to bed?’ There was so much adrenalin coursing through her veins, she doubted she’d ever sleep again. Instead, she walked towards the windows Matt had opened earlier. ‘The pool’s floodlit, isn’t it? I might go for a swim.’

Matt stared at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses.

But Joanna was suddenly so warm her skin was prickling with heat. Hardly thinking what she was about to do, she unbuttoned her tunic and peeled it off. Then she tipped the straps of her bra down over her arms, feeling the blessed relief of air from the air-conditioning system cooling her overheated flesh.

Matt swore. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, and she heard the revealing thickening of his tone. His voice was both harsh and raw with emotion, and Joanna lifted a nervous hand to her throat.

‘I’m going for a swim,’ she said lightly. ‘The water will be beautifully cool at this time of the evening.’

Matt’s teeth ground together. ‘If you think I might come with you—’

‘I don’t expect anything of you, Matt.’ Yet despite her words desire was suddenly shimmering throughout her body. Her blood was racing like liquid fire, and she moistened dry lips with a pink tongue. ‘You can stay or go. It’s up to you.’

‘I made my decision five minutes ago,’ Matt reminded her, stifling a curse, but his face suddenly blazed with colour. Didn’t she realise what seeing her in only half a bra and a skimpy pair of panties was doing to him?

Of course, she did. He scowled. ‘If this is some sick game you’re playing—’

‘It’s no game.’ She took a deep breath, stretching her arms above her head. ‘I don’t play games, Matt. I’m going swimming. What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s after eleven o’clock.’

‘So?’

Matt swore and turned towards the door again and she realised he was really leaving this time. Which was probably just as well, she assured herself unsteadily, grabbing her overnight bag and heading for the bathroom. That way he need never know she’d only been bluffing.

She didn’t wait to hear the door slam behind him. There was a closed door to her left, which she guessed led into the bathroom, and she couldn’t wait to take off the rest of her clothes and step into a cool shower. She had no illusions now that Matt really cared what happened to her, and she found her eyes were stupidly brimming with tears.

She was reaching for the handle when a lean brown wrist came over her shoulder. Matt’s hand flattened against the door, successfully preventing her from opening it.

‘You planning on getting changed in the closet?’ he asked, his taut body imprisoning hers against the door. ‘Not a good plan, Jo.’

Joanna gulped. ‘I thought you were leaving.’

‘I was. I should be.’ Matt’s voice was hoarse. ‘But I’m crazy. Didn’t you know?’

Aware that her heart was palpitating in her breast, Joanna rested her hot face against the panels of the door. ‘Why are you still here?’ she whispered brokenly. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Matt demanded savagely. His hand slid beneath her bra, his palm rubbing sensuously over her burgeoning nipple. ‘Go on, tell me to go now. Or are you having too much fun at my expense?’

‘I’m not having fun at your expense,’ protested Joanna, her breath hitching as he lowered his free hand to her stomach. ‘I didn’t want you to go.’

‘You know what, I find that hard to believe.’

‘It’s true,’ she panted, leaning her head back against his shoulder. ‘You’re still the only man I’ve ever loved.’

Matt’s breath caught in his throat and he allowed his fingers to slide down over the flimsy lace of her panties. Joanna’s stomach contracted, and she shuddered in anticipation when his hand continued down until it was trapped between her legs.

Then he pressed her back against his throbbing shaft and muttered in an undertone, ‘Now I guess you know why I’m still here,’ as he swung her round to face him. Then he bent his head and took possession of her mouth.

And Joanna knew that ever since she’d seen Matt again, she’d been fighting this battle over and over in her mind. Now she didn’t hesitate, giving herself up to the demands of her senses, winding her arms around his neck and parting her lips for his tongue.

Her lacy bra was discarded, and his tongue tugging on her nipples was a forbidden delight. Tiny rivulets of fire invaded every pore of her body, and she dragged his mouth back to hers with an urgency too long denied.

Her fingers sought the button at the waist of his pants and she caressed his taut stomach with her knuckles as she pulled it free. Then his zip slid smoothly down to his crotch and exposed the bulging outline of his shaft.

His erection swelled against the silk of his boxers. She half expected him to take her there, pressed against the door. She wouldn’t have objected, she thought wildly. But he inhaled a tortuous breath and swung her up into his arms.

‘The bed, I think,’ he said thickly, and, stepping over his pants, he carried her into the room next door.

Between lowering her onto the bed and following her down he managed to dispose of his boxers. Then, straddling her yielding form, he cupped her face between his hands. ‘If you change your mind now, I’ll never forgive you,’ he muttered hoarsely, but Joanna’s fingers were already seeking the swollen stiffness of his shaft.

‘I need to be inside you. God, why did you make me wait so long?’ he choked, almost strangled by his emotions.

Just for a brief moment, as Matt’s tongue traced a sensuous path from her breasts to her navel and beyond, Joanna wondered if it was she who was crazy and not him. How would she feel about this in the morning? Would she remember it as the biggest mistake of her life? But when his fingers slipped between her legs again and entered her, she arched to meet them. Then shuddered as a wave of sexual pleasure sent her hurtling over the brink.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he didn’t hesitate. With an urgency born of need, he moved between her thighs and buried his length inside her.

Their lovemaking was hot and passionate. Matt had forgotten how good it felt to be with her, to have her muscles tightening around him, her body tensing again, ready for what was to come. When he felt the spasms of excitement rippling through her, he pushed ever more deeply into her core.

Joanna’s head was spinning. She’d missed Matt’s lovemaking more than she could ever say. Their rhythms matched, so smooth, so natural. Her body arched to meet his thrusts, perfectly in tune with his demands.

When he moved faster, so did she. She felt as if her senses were on overload, spiralling out of control. The darkness of his passion surrounded her, the pulse of his excitement causing her to climax again and again. And when his release came, she clung to him, feeling him filling her with his seed.

Joanna opened her eyes to daylight.

It was still very early. Barely six o’clock according to her watch. But attuned as she was to British time, the fact that the sun was not yet up meant nothing. Miami was five hours behind London and in consequence she was instantly wide awake.

She blinked as her brain kicked in, recognising the suite at the hotel the manager had shown them into the night before. She and Matt, she remembered, with a sudden feeling of apprehension.

Dear God!

Propping herself up on her elbows, she turned her head, half expecting to find herself alone. Surely what she’d thought had happened had been just a dream; a sensual hallucination; brought about by overwrought senses and too many glasses of wine.

But she was not alone. There was a warm body beside hers in the bed. Matt’s body, she realised a little incredulously, as her breathing quickened in disbelief. He’d evidently fallen asleep, as she had. So what price now her earlier conviction that she’d imagined the whole thing?

Easing back against the pillows, not wanting to disturb him until she’d assessed the situation, she felt a headache probing at her temples. Evidently, she’d had too many glasses of wine and too little sustenance the night before. Why else, in the name of all that was holy, would she have allowed this to happen? After everything she’d said about her husband, how had she got herself into this mess?

The awareness of her own nakedness briefly diverted her. She hadn’t slept in the nude since the last time she and Matt had shared a bed. She certainly hadn’t expected to share one with him again. Not on this trip. Nor any other. What about her demands for a divorce?

The ache between her thighs was a reminder of what had actually occurred. They’d made love several times, she remembered, her skin prickling in response. They’d both seemed insatiable, she recalled, unable to deny it. She’d wanted him, quite desperately as it had turned out. So what did that say about her?

She might hate Matt for the way she believed he’d betrayed her father, but he’d now know it hadn’t entirely erased the feelings they’d once shared. If only she’d taken David’s advice and conducted this negotiation from a distance. Yet she couldn’t entirely blame Matt for her own weakness where he was concerned.

She lifted a hand to her breasts. They, too, were intensely sensitive, and she recalled how Matt had suckled from their swollen peaks. Then his mouth had burned a sensual path to her navel, before he’d buried his head so erotically between her thighs.

Involuntarily, her hand slid down to touch the damp curls between her legs. She was sensitive there, too. But it was just sex, she told herself fiercely. Sex that had driven her to behave the way she had. Nothing more.

Yet seeing Matt’s head on the pillow beside hers, she knew she couldn’t trust herself to behave any more sensibly this morning. Wanting someone was an addictive thing, and she was apparently unable to resist. She was intensely vulnerable, so she should make sure she wasn’t here when he woke up.

For a moment more, she studied his lean dark features, fighting the lingering desire to draw his hand between her legs. She couldn’t deny he was still immensely attractive to her, but she believed the love she’d once had for him had given way to a much more basic need.

It wouldn’t last, she assured herself. No relationship built on such foundations survived. The sooner she collected her belongings and got out of the hotel, the better.

What a blessing it was that she hadn’t unpacked the night before, she thought, as she slid cautiously out of bed. Although she’d left her jeans and tee shirt on the bed when she’d gone to dinner at the villa, she’d stuffed them back into her bag before leaving for the hotel.

A quick use of the facilities and she could be on her way, she thought. Though it was nerve-racking trying to get dressed without disturbing Matt. She had no idea what she’d say to him if he woke up. Or what he might say to her.

But he didn’t wake up. He was still sleeping soundly when she headed for the door. She hesitated for a moment in the doorway, wishing it didn’t have to end like this. Then, squaring her shoulders, she slipped the latch and headed for the lift.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JOANNA WAS EXHAUSTED by the time she let herself into her small apartment the following morning. The flight from New York had landed soon after six-thirty. And, although she’d been hoping to get a few hours’ sleep on the flight, a crying baby and the man beside her snoring for most of the journey had put paid to that.

She’d flown home via New York because the flight from Miami to London hadn’t been due to leave until the evening and the last thing she’d wanted to do was hang around Miami airport, looking as though she was waiting for Matt to come and find her.

There’d been a flight to New York almost immediately, and she’d been lucky enough to snag a seat in business class. She’d excused the extravagance on the grounds that it was an emergency. Some things were worth the price you had to pay.

She wasn’t looking forward to seeing David again. Naturally she wouldn’t tell him she’d slept with Matt. But she was very much afraid he would suspect what had been going on. And in her present fragile state, she might well reveal more than she intended.

He was bound to say ‘I told you so’ if she admitted that the visit hadn’t gone as she’d anticipated. He’d warned her not to go and she half wished she’d taken his advice.

Half wished?

Shaking her head, she stripped off her clothes and headed for the shower. Standing under the hot spray, she felt as if she was sluicing every trace of Matt’s lovemaking from her body. A vain hope, she acknowledged, and when she heard the phone ringing as she turned off the water, she found herself hoping that it was Matt.

Crazily, her heart skipped a beat at the thought, but then she quickly came down to earth again. It was her mobile phone that was ringing and Matt didn’t have her mobile number. Wrapping a bath towel around her, she went with rather less enthusiasm to answer it, which even she knew was foolish. She felt a sense of resignation when she saw David Bellamy’s number on the small screen.

She really didn’t want to talk to him right now. Yet she had no choice. ‘Hi, David,’ she said, trying to adopt an upbeat tone. Crossing her fingers to protect herself against the lie, she added, ‘I was going to ring you later.’

‘How much later?’ He didn’t sound appeased. ‘You must have arrived home hours ago.’

‘Not hours,’ she protested. ‘It was early morning when I landed. You might not have been awake if I’d phoned you then.’

‘Even so…’

‘David, I needed a shower and a change of clothes. You know what it’s like when you’ve been away.’

‘You were only away a couple of days, Joanna. It was hardly a holiday.’ He sighed. ‘Do I take it you saw the great man?’

‘I saw Matt, yes.’ Joanna hesitated before continuing. ‘Actually, he’s been ill. That’s why he didn’t answer any of my emails.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ she said, half annoyed at feeling the need to defend herself. ‘He’d picked up a bug in South America while he was there.’

‘Oh, well…’ David evidently decided not to push his luck. ‘So you’ll be coming in—what? Later today?’

‘Make it tomorrow,’ she said, although the idea of going into work at all wasn’t appealing right now. ‘This place is a mess and I need to do some grocery shopping.’ She paused. ‘Is that all right?’

‘I guess so,’ replied David ruefully. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to assure myself that you got home safely.’

‘Well, thanks.’ Joanna realised she’d been in danger of taking her frustrations out on him. ‘I’ll tell you all about my trip tomorrow.’ Or as much as was sensible anyway. ‘Okay?’

It was the hotel phone that awakened Matt.

His own mobile phone was in the pocket of the trousers he’d taken off—well, kicked off in the other room, actually—the night before. If it had rung earlier, he certainly hadn’t heard it.

Groaning, he blinked, taking stock of his surroundings. Then, realising that Joanna wasn’t beside him—was she in the shower? —he rolled over to snag the phone at her side of the bed.

‘Yeah?’

‘Matt? Oh, thank goodness, I’ve reached you at last. I’ve been ringing your phone for ages but you didn’t answer.’

Matt recognised his sister’s voice at once. ‘What’s the urgency?’

Sophie clicked her tongue. ‘Well, when you didn’t come home last night, we were all concerned. But then, this business with Dad—’

‘What business with Dad?’ Matt dragged himself up against the pillows and forced himself to focus on what she was saying. ‘What’s happened?’

Sophie sighed. ‘Oh, Matt, we had a call from Andy Reichert in the early hours.’ Andy Reichert was his—now his father’s—second-in-command. ‘He’d phoned Dad last night, and he’d been concerned when he couldn’t reach him. Apparently, Dad hadn’t been too well during the afternoon, so, as a last resort, Andy went to the office.

‘He found Dad slumped over his desk. He called 911, naturally, and Dad was rushed to hospital. It’s another stroke, Matt. A more serious one this time. No one knows what the eventual outcome will be, but right now it’s touch and go.’

Three weeks later, Joanna had accepted that Matt wasn’t going to contact her. Whatever had happened in Miami, he’d evidently decided there was no point in pursuing her to England.

She’d found it hard to accept at first. She’d been so sure he’d want to see her again. Foolish, perhaps, but after the night they’d spent together, she’d actually been tempted to give him a second chance.

Still, maybe that was just her hormones talking. Whatever, she’d finally convinced herself that maintaining the status quo was in her best interests and his. She’d been in danger of losing sight of her reasons for going to Miami in the first place. Was she so easy to deceive?

Evidently so.

She hadn’t heard from Matt’s solicitors either, though in the last week, and with David’s encouragement, she’d consulted a firm of divorce lawyers here in London. She’d given them Matt’s address and had assumed they’d contact him on her behalf, and she’d waited on tenterhooks for his response. But nothing had come of it. Yet.

A second interview was planned for the beginning of the following week, and she’d decide then what she was going to do. There didn’t seem much point in delaying the inevitable. Which meant she had to tell her mother what was going on.

Glenys Carlyle—or Glenys Avery, as she was now—lived in Cornwall with her second husband. Lionel Avery was a wine merchant she’d met at a night club in London fifteen years ago, just after she and Joanna’s father had separated.

Although he was almost eight years her junior, they seemed happy together. And despite the fact that Joanna had initially resented her mother for leaving her father, time, and the fallout both before and after her father’s death, had strengthened their relationship.

She’d been fourteen when her parents split up, and whenever the topic had come up, her father had always blamed his ex-wife. It was true, her mother had been the one to walk out on the marriage, but it was also true that Angus Carlyle was not the easiest man to live with.

After Glenys and Lionel were married, her mother had invited Joanna to live with them. But Joanna had felt she couldn’t leave her father on his own. Okay, she’d acknowledged that Angus Carlyle had his faults, but she didn’t feel she could abandon him completely.

And she hadn’t. But she found herself wondering now if that had been her first mistake.

Matt landed in London at about seven p.m. He’d used the company jet to fly to England, rather than try to book a seat on the scheduled flight, but he hadn’t been able to relax. Too much was going on, both in his business and his personal life. His pilot hadn’t been too pleased at being hauled out of bed in the early hours of the morning either, but he’d known better than to cause a fuss.

Matt had received the divorce papers from Joanna’s solicitors a few days ago, and since then he’d been agitating to get away. But he had responsibilities. Since his father’s second stroke, he’d had to take over again as CEO of the company, and it had been impossible for him to drop everything to fly to London.

A company car was waiting for him at the airport, and he gave the driver Joanna’s current address. Although he still owned the apartment they had shared in the city, she didn’t live there. After their break-up, she’d found her own apartment not far from the gallery. With Bellamy’s help, no doubt, Matt thought dourly, as the limousine transported him swiftly through the busy streets.

Colgate Court was a small development of one-and two-bedroomed serviced apartments, with the amenities common to such accommodations. Matt scowled when he got out of the car, reflecting that if Joanna had been willing to use the money he’d deposited regularly in her bank account, she could have afforded somewhere a lot better than this.

But it was adequate, he conceded, bending to inform his driver that he’d ring him if he needed him again. Then, fastening a couple of buttons on his cashmere jacket, he strode quickly towards the entry.

Matt had never been inside the building before, but he had checked the place out after attending her father’s funeral. He’d wanted to know where she was living, particularly as Joanna had apparently changed the number of her mobile phone so he couldn’t reach her that way.

A man was standing in the lobby of the building, looking out at him. The door to one of the ground-floor apartments was ajar and Matt wondered if he was the caretaker for the building. The outer door was locked with the usual keypad beside it, and after ascertaining which apartment was occupied by Mrs—no, Ms—Carlyle, he scowled at the anomaly and pressed her bell.

There was no response and his scowl deepened. He’d been fairly sure she’d be at home at this hour of the evening. Perhaps the man would know. He hesitated only a moment before knocking at the door, and after a second’s hesitation the man came to open it.

However, he regarded Matt rather suspiciously, as if he wasn’t used to dealing with visitors after dark. Especially a tall, intimidating visitor, who was regarding him with a definite air of impatience.

Matt’s skin was darkly tanned, too, after his convalescence in Florida, and he had an unconscious arrogance that apparently aroused the man’s defences. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked offhandedly, and Matt got the feeling that he was hoping he’d say no.

‘You already have,’ Matt replied, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, causing the man to back up in alarm.

Adopting his most unthreatening tone, Matt continued, ‘I’m here to visit with my wife, Mrs Novak? Um, that is—Ms Carlyle,’ he amended shortly. ‘Do you know if she’s at home?’

The man frowned, and tucked the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, with evident satisfaction. ‘I’m only the caretaker here. Sorry.’

Matt knew an almost uncontrollable desire to swear, but instead he said stiffly, ‘I’ll go up and see for myself. The third floor, isn’t it?’

The man took a heavy breath. ‘I can’t let you do that. You can ring her bell again, if you like, but—’

Matt controlled his annoyance with an effort. ‘She might have been in the bathroom when I rang,’ he protested.

‘She might indeed.’ The man sniffed and Matt sucked in an impatient breath.

‘Mrs—Ms Carlyle is my wife,’ he said curtly. ‘I need to speak with her.’

‘Do you now?’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Does she know you’re coming?’

Matt’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. He wasn’t used to being treated in this way. ‘No,’ he snapped tersely. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours. Now, if you’ll—’

But before he could go on, the door to a lift he’d barely noticed before swept open at the other side of the lobby. Footsteps crossed the faux marble floor, halting uncertainly when he turned.

‘Matt!’

Joanna was standing just a few yards from the lift. She was carrying what appeared to be a basket of laundry, and he guessed she’d been on her way to speak to the caretaker. Why else bring a basket of laundry down to the ground floor?

But now she’d halted and was staring at him with disbelieving eyes.

She was so beautiful, he thought. Her streaked blonde curls shone like gold, as if the sun were hidden in their heavy masses. Her eyes were wide and startled as she gazed at him, twin orbs of a deep blue, surrounded by long darkened lashes.

‘Hello, Joanna,’ he said, resisting the urge to glance triumphantly at his companion. ‘Perhaps you would tell our nervous friend here that we’re acquainted?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

JOANNA MOISTENED LIPS that had suddenly become as dry as the desert. ‘Um—yes, Mr Johnson,’ she said, with evident reluctance, Matt thought. ‘I know Mr Novak.’

‘Novak?’ The older man frowned. ‘He said his name was Carlyle.’

‘No, you’ve assumed that,’ Matt contradicted him shortly, getting tired of this fruitless exchange. ‘However, she is my wife.’ He arched his dark brows at Joanna. ‘Am I right?’

Joanna hesitated, but, aware that the caretaker was watching their exchange, she said, ‘For the present.’

She heaved a breath, and then spoke again to the man. ‘Actually, I wanted to tell you I’m going away tomorrow for a few days.’ She might wish she hadn’t chosen this particular moment to give the caretaker this news, but it was too late now. She’d been on her way back from the laundry in the basement and it had seemed the ideal opportunity. ‘Would you mind keeping an eye on the apartment for me, Mr Johnson?’

‘No problem, Ms Carlyle,’ he said, annoying Matt anew with his familiarity. ‘I hope you’re going somewhere warm. It’s been so cold these last few days.’

‘Hasn’t it?’

Joanna managed a smile before heading back towards the lift, with Matt following her. But although he evidently expected her to press the button, she stopped and turned to face him instead. ‘Well?’

‘Well?’ he said blankly. ‘Well, what?’

‘I assume you came here to talk to me. So, go ahead, talk.’

‘Not here.’ Matt’s patience was shredding. ‘I suggest we go up to your apartment.’

Joanna squared her shoulders and glanced at her watch—the slim Patek Philippe watch, he’d given her, Matt noticed, reassured that she hadn’t abandoned it along with everything else. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, ‘that’s not convenient. You should have given me some warning that you were coming to England.’

‘As you warned me you were coming to Miami?’ suggested Matt tensely. ‘What’s wrong? Do you already have a visitor? Is my arrival inconvenient?’

Joanna pursed her lips. ‘No—and yes,’ she replied, shifting a little nervously. ‘What do you want, Matt? It’s a bit late for a social call.’

‘Is it?’

Matt was sardonic, and Joanna gave a weary sigh. ‘It is when I have things to do.’

‘Because you’re going away?’

‘Yes. You’ve just heard that I’m going away tomorrow.’ He noticed she was avoiding his gaze. ‘I still need to tidy the apartment and finish my packing.’

Matt scowled. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘More to the point, who are you going with?’

Joanna smoothed the laundry in the basket. ‘Does it matter? We decided some time ago that our relationship is over.’

‘Did we? Was that before or after you got me into bed?’

‘I didn’t—’ Joanna broke off, wondering what he’d say if she told him she’d been expecting him to contact her for the past three weeks. ‘I hope you’re not anticipating another one-night stand.’

‘I’m not.’ His voice was harsh.

But, in truth, his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Yet why would he expect a warm welcome? It had taken him three weeks to come and find her and she didn’t know why.

As if sensing his frustration, she finally pressed the button to summon the lift. When the doors opened and she stepped inside, he followed her. She definitely didn’t want to cause a scene. Besides, ridiculous as it seemed, she was glad to see Matt.

But unfortunately, that reminded her of how he’d looked the last time she’d seen him, naked in bed. And she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that now. He did look a little weary, however, but he was still a disturbingly handsome man.

In charcoal pants and an olive-green buttoned sweater, a black cashmere jacket accentuating the powerful width of his shoulders, he was achingly familiar. His attractive features were in no way diminished by the hard line of his mouth. A mouth that had always—always—been fascinating to her. She even found herself wondering if the reason he hadn’t contacted her was because he’d had a recurrence of his illness.

God, why did she care?

‘So, are you going to tell me where you’re going?’ he asked, as she pressed the button for the third floor. ‘Or is it a state secret?’

Joanna sighed. ‘I’m going to Cornwall,’ she said, trying to keep focussed. ‘I’m going to spend a few days with my mother and Lionel. It’s some time since I’ve seen them.’

‘Really?’ Matt’s tone was even. ‘Does Glenys know you want a divorce?’

‘We haven’t discussed it, no.’ Joanna spoke quickly. She’d been avoiding that conversation in fact. Her mother knew they were separated, but Joanna had never debated the reasons with her. Glenys had always been fond of Matt, and Joanna had known she would likely take his side if she told her what Angus had said.

Matt’s brows arched enquiringly. ‘Why haven’t you told her before now?’

Joanna drew in a breath. ‘Because, I haven’t,’ she said shortly, catching herself before she admitted the truth. ‘I’m taking the morning train to Truro. I intend to tell her while I’m there.’

The lift stopped at the third floor before Matt could answer. But, just in case she had any notion of scurrying into her apartment and locking him out, he took the basket of clean laundry out of her hands.

‘Let me,’ he said, with restrained courtesy. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

Joanna made no response. What would be the point? If he’d taken the trouble to come here, he evidently had something to say.

‘I could come with you,’ he offered, as she fumbled in the pocket of her tight jeans for her key. ‘I’d like to see Glenys again.’

‘You’re joking!’ Joanna cast a startled look over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’

Matt wasn’t deterred. ‘Perhaps I’d enjoy a break. I have been to Cornwall before.’

Of course, he had. When Joanna and Matt were first married, both Glenys and Lionel Avery had made them very welcome in both their London home and the house in Padsworth.

These days the Averys lived permanently in the small fishing village not far from Truro. Although Lionel still commuted to London once a month to check on his wine-importing business, he and Glenys had made a very comfortable life for themselves in Cornwall.

With some misgivings, Joanna opened the door into the apartment and Matt followed her inside. He had never been to the apartment before, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. Apart from the fact that it was small and rather shabby, there were no disturbing images to upset her here. No lingering memories of the life they’d once shared.

Now that would change. Now that he’d filled the place with his masculinity and his magnetism, it was never going to feel the same again. The small foyer that gave onto a studio-type space, serving as both kitchen and living room, was dwarfed by his presence. She could only be grateful he’d have no reason to go into her bedroom or its adjoining bath.

For his part, Matt looked about him with interest. Cream walls, a terracotta-coloured carpet, a green sofa with a matching easy chair. It didn’t bear any resemblance to the luxurious apartment they’d once shared in Knightsbridge, but it was cosy. And Matt guessed that for Joanna it represented independence.

He looked at her now as she snatched the basket of clothes out of his hands, and stood with it in her arms. Even when she was wearing frayed jeans and a skimpy tee shirt he found her fascinating. But her mood was less so, and she regarded him with wary eyes.

‘I don’t want you to come to Cornwall with me,’ she said stiffly. ‘Mum and Lionel would get the wrong idea.’

‘And that would be?’

‘That I’ve changed my mind about the divorce,’ she declared staunchly.

‘But you’ve just said they don’t know anything about it.’ Matt’s tone was dry. ‘So they could hardly get the wrong idea.’

Joanna pursed her lips. ‘They’ll know soon enough.’ She paused. ‘And I haven’t changed my mind, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise.’

Matt regarded her narrowly. ‘At the risk of another argument, I’d say you’re pretty good at giving people the wrong idea.’

‘Because of what happened in Miami?’ Joanna could feel her cheeks burning. ‘That—that was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’

Matt was sardonic. ‘Gee, you’ve no idea how good that makes me feel.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’ Joanna bent her head. ‘It just happened.’

‘The result of too much wine and adrenalin, is that it?’

‘Something like that.’ Joanna moved to set the basket of laundry on the kitchen counter. She tried not to be daunted by his height, or the way he towered over her in her trainers. ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t stick around until you’d woken up?’

‘Well, that would be a start.’ Matt regarded her with dark enquiring eyes. ‘Or were you afraid of what might happen if I did?’

‘You flatter yourself,’ said Joanna tartly, but she was glad he couldn’t read her thoughts. ‘As you say, I’d had too much to drink and I was—I was embarrassed about how I’d behaved.’

Matt gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Are you in the habit of having sex with men when you’ve had too much to drink?’

‘No.’ Joanna was indignant. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before, and you should know it. And I didn’t have sex with men! You were—you still are—my husband. It was foolish, but—life happens.’

Doesn’t it just? mused Matt grimly, wondering why he’d ever thought she’d want to see him again. Right now, he had the mother of all headaches, and a belated belief that he’d made yet another mistake.

‘So, tell me,’ he said, ‘why didn’t you just let me go? If you’re so desperate to get a divorce, it would have been the simplest thing to do.’

Joanna stifled a groan. Didn’t she know it? What madness had gripped her? All she knew was that she’d revealed a side of herself she hadn’t even known existed. That Matt hadn’t known existed. And she wasn’t proud of it.

Oh, God!

With a feeling of defeat, she wrapped her arms around herself. If only she’d left for Cornwall this morning before Matt chose to come here and humiliate her again.

Matt brooded now, his brows descending over eyes as dark as midnight. ‘I simply don’t understand.’

‘I know.’ Joanna pressed her hands together. And then another thought occurred to her. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘you’ve taken long enough to decide you wanted to see me again.’

‘I have, haven’t I?’ Matt’s tone hardened with his words. ‘I had my reasons.’

‘Maybe there was some other woman you had to get rid of first,’ suggested Joanna, achieving an air of indifference she was far from feeling. ‘Should I be flattered that you’re here at all?’

‘Don’t try to be clever,’ said Matt wearily. ‘There is no other woman.’ He paused. ‘You can’t blame me because you lost your nerve.’

Joanna wished she had his skill in always having an answer. His ability to peel the skin from her flesh with his words left her feeling raw and exposed.

‘Anyway, I bet you were on the phone to the airport before you even had a shower!’ she retorted, seeking vindication. ‘You could have found me before now, if that’s what you’d really wanted to do.’

‘Is that what you expected?’

‘No!’ Her flush deepened, but she had to be honest. ‘Well, perhaps.’

‘Really?’ Matt suddenly recalled the phone call he’d received from Sophie with a shudder of revulsion. ‘Well, perhaps I would have done just that, but, as I said before—something came up.’

Joanna shrugged with what she hoped looked like acceptance. Not looking at him, she pulled some of the clothes out of the basket and started folding towels and underwear. ‘So what distracted you?’ she asked, unable to leave it alone. ‘If it wasn’t a woman—’

Matt’s eyes were suddenly as cold as ice chips. ‘As a matter of fact, I got a call that my father had had another stroke. Forgive me, but that news kind of took precedence over everything else.’

CHAPTER NINE

JOANNA’S JAW DROPPED and she stopped what she was doing to stare at him. ‘Oliver—has had another stroke?’ she echoed faintly. She had always been fond of Matt’s father. ‘I—I’m so sorry. I had no idea. How is he? Not—not—’

‘Dead?’ Matt’s voice was bitter now. ‘No, he’s still living. Barely, at the moment, but that’s more his fault than anyone else’s.’

Joanna frowned. ‘Surely he wants to get better?’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

Matt shook his head, wondering if she deserved an explanation. He wandered over to the windows that overlooked the parking lot, staring out with unseeing eyes.

Then, when the silence in the apartment had become almost palpable, he said flatly, ‘The stroke has left him partially paralysed this time. He has little feeling in the left side of his body. He can’t dress himself or drive, which means there’s no way he can live alone, as he’s been doing while I was ill. Consequently, he can’t carry on the pretence of running NovCo.’

Joanna’s own problems were briefly diverted by his words. ‘But why would he want to? I thought you would—’

‘What?’ Matt turned to face her again, hands pushing his jacket aside to slide into the pockets of his pants, pulling the fabric taut across his groin. ‘What did you think, Joanna? That I’d be taking over again, now that I’ve recovered from the bug?’

Joanna swallowed, her eyes irresistibly drawn to the bulge beneath his zip. Forcing herself to look away, she struggled to stay focussed. ‘I—I assumed you would.’

‘Well, you were wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m leaving the company. Sophie’s going to take over as CEO.’

‘Sophie!’ Joanna was staggered.

Matt shrugged. ‘She was always more interested in making money than I was, but Dad never took her seriously before. Talking to you seems to have given her the incentive to do what she wants for a change. She only got married to please my mother, but now that she and Jon have split up, and Dad’s not in a position to object, she’s getting her chance.’

Joanna could hardly believe it. Occasionally, when they’d still been together, Matt had spoken of leaving NovCo and doing something else. But she’d never believed he would.

‘I’ll maintain an interest, of course, and so will my father,’ he continued. ‘It will still mainly be a family concern. But I’ve realised I want more out of life than spending my days sitting in boardrooms, and my nights socialising with people who are only interested in me because of what they think I can do for them.’

Joanna tried to make sense of what he was saying. ‘And—and this is why your father isn’t recovering as he should?’ she asked, picking up a thong with hands that weren’t quite steady.

‘Partly.’ Matt’s eyes flickered over the scrap of lace she was holding, and Joanna thrust it back into the basket in the hope that he hadn’t seen what it was. ‘I’d warned him weeks ago, when I first got back from Venezuela, that I was considering retiring from the company,’ Matt continued, as if that little embarrassment hadn’t taken place. ‘But he didn’t believe a word of it until now.’

‘I’m sure.’ Joanna was grateful for the chance to distract him. ‘Poor Oliver.’

‘Well, I can’t take all the blame.’ Matt’s lips twisted. ‘The old man wants his independence back and it’s not going to happen. But he will improve if he listens to his doctors and the physios who are trying to help him.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘He must feel so helpless.’

‘Yeah. I guess. But once he realises I’m serious about moving down to the Bahamas, and he sees that Sophie’s doing a good job, he’ll come around.’

Joanna stared at him disbelievingly. ‘What on earth are you going to do in the Bahamas? You’ll be bored stiff.’

‘Hardly.’ Matt was impatient. ‘I’m thinking I might write a novel. Goodness knows, I’ve got plenty of ideas after recent events. But for now, I’m planning on catering to weekend yachtsmen and those who enjoy deep-sea fishing. I intend to buy a couple of franchises. It’ll be a change of pace, if nothing else.’

Joanna had to admit, she was shocked. ‘So, you’re giving up running NovCo altogether,’ she said, still trying to get her head round the idea. ‘I always thought it was your life.’

‘You were my life.’ Matt’s dark gaze was compelling. ‘When you left, I started to realise how narrow my world had become.’

‘Are you saying I did you a favour?’ she asked incredulously, and Matt gave her a scornful look.

‘It was a wake-up call,’ he answered. ‘I suppose Angus did me that service at least. Hell, Joanna, I had hoped you’d have come to your senses before now.’ Matt expelled a weary breath. ‘But I guess I should have known better. You are your father’s daughter, after all.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Joanna spoke defensively, and Matt groaned.

‘Joanna, thanks to NovCo, the millions of dollars in compensation resulting from Carlyle’s botched construction have been paid. Something your father couldn’t have done, even if he’d wanted to. Do you honestly think we’d have bought your old man’s company if we’d known he was cheating on his contracts? For God’s sake, Joanna, have a bit of sense.’

‘It was the rig NovCo installed that caught fire.’

‘NovCo installed it, but they didn’t build it.’ Matt was bitter. ‘When the salvage operators got down to the wrecked platform, the spec on the burned outer casing proved it had come from your father’s workshop.’

‘Daddy said you’d changed the records to protect yourselves.’

‘As he would. But how do you change something like a bar code? That’s something I’d like to know.’

‘Well, if Daddy was still here, maybe he could tell you.’

Matt blew out a weary breath. They’d had this argument before and he knew he was wasting his time. Even if his desire for her was forcing him to try and reason with her again, he knew he’d never convince her that he was right. But he’d get over it, he assured himself. He’d control that as he’d controlled so much else in the past few months.

She was looking anxious now, and he relented. ‘Let’s forget it,’ he said. ‘What I choose to do now is no longer your concern.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘This novel you’re thinking of writing: it has nothing to do with the accident, does it?’ Joanna dragged her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I mean, I know you hate me—’

Matt expelled a tired breath. ‘I don’t hate you, Jo. I think your loyalties are misplaced, but I’d never do anything to hurt you.’

Joanna was reassured, but there was still another question she had to ask. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do when I saw you?’

‘When?’ Matt replied. ‘When you came to the villa and accused me of ignoring your emails? Or that night at the hotel when you hauled me into bed.’ He shook his head. ‘You had other things on your mind.’

Joanna could feel her face reddening. ‘And if I did, you were more than willing.’

‘There is that.’ Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I don’t deny I was pretty out of it myself. We definitely had something special.’ He paused. ‘If you remember, we always did.’

Joanna did remember. She felt a constriction in her throat and turned her attention back to the laundry. ‘Sex isn’t everything,’ she murmured, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her. But he had.

‘You keep telling yourself that.’ Matt was tired of trying to get through to her. He dragged a hand through his hair and allowed it to rest at the back of his neck. Then he regarded her with disillusioned eyes. ‘You know what? That’s it. I’m out of here.’

He shook his head. He should have realised that if she’d wanted to see him again, she’d have stayed in Miami. But after their night together, he’d actually hoped she might have had a change of heart.

He had to wonder how she’d react if he told her that since the takeover of Carlyle Construction, he’d been protecting her father’s reputation. He doubted she’d believe that either, but the temptation to explode the saintly myth she’d created about her father was almost irresistible.

Angus was so grateful when Matt rescued the company. He got the old man out of a hole so deep he had to wonder how he’d got there in the first place.

But that didn’t trouble him until later. Businesses did fail, he knew that, and he’d never suspected that it was her father’s addiction to gambling that was to blame. He doubted he’d have found out at all if it hadn’t been for NovCo’s accountants. Naturally Angus’s financial statements had been audited, and his dirty little secret had been exposed.

Of course, when Matt had found out Angus had begged him not to tell anyone, particularly Joanna. And had it not been for the fact that Matt himself had arranged for it to be concealed the reasons behind Carlyle Construction’s collapse would have been disclosed. Even Oliver had been doubtful of his son’s magnanimity. Matt had broken the law himself to give his father-in-law a second chance.

In the meantime Angus promised to give up his online gambling. And because there was no way Matt could enrol him in Gamblers Anonymous without everyone finding out what had happened he’d had to trust the old man to keep his word.

Matt had known how much this would upset his wife if she learned of her father’s addiction. In consequence, Matt had destroyed all the evidence of the old man’s guilt and kept it to himself.

Until he’d discovered for the first time that Angus’s word meant nothing at all.

Thinking about it now, Matt abandoned any hope of appealing to her. Let her go on believing he had lied to her. He no longer had the will to care.

‘I’ll send you my new address, should you need to get in touch with me,’ Matt said at last, feeling his headache worsening. He lifted a hand as she started to protest, and added, ‘It’s a courtesy, nothing more.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Have a good life, Joanna. I, for one, intend to do the same. But in spite of everything, I’ll never regret those years we spent together.’

He wondered in passing what she thought her father had done with the millions he’d made out of selling his business to NovCo. Without thinking it through, he let his tongue get the better of his good sense.

‘This apartment’s okay,’ he said casually. ‘But I’d have expected you to spend some of the money Angus left you. He owned his own house, didn’t he? And he was still getting a dividend from his shares.’

‘The solicitor said—’ she started. And then broke off before saying shortly, ‘Don’t concern yourself on my account. I’m quite happy here.’

I doubt it, thought Matt tiredly. But apparently common sense had died along with everything else.

Cursing his conscience, Matt took a step towards her and for a moment Joanna was sure he was going to pull her into his arms. His lean dark face was suddenly too close to hers and she could smell the subtle tang of his deodorant, mingling with the faintly musky odour of his skin.

And right then, all she could think about was how powerful he was and how wonderful it had felt to have his arms around her again. She couldn’t help herself, she swayed towards him, but he put out a hand to keep her at bay.

‘Not again, Jo,’ he said roughly, his fingers curling around her wrist. ‘It’s too late. I’ve got no intention of being your fall guy again.’

‘You were never my fall guy.’ Joanna could feel a sense of panic gripping her at the knowledge that if he walked out of here now, she might never see him again. ‘Matt—’

But he wasn’t listening. Releasing her, he started for the door. Then obviously against his will, he turned back to cup her neck and drag her towards him. He bent his head and took her mouth almost savagely. It was a hard kiss, almost as cruel as his fingers, but her senses swam as soon as he lifted his head.

‘You can have your divorce,’ he told her harshly, despising the urge he still had to take her to bed. ‘I’ll have my lawyers contact yours as soon as I get back to the States. I just hope it keeps you warm on all those cold nights to come.’

CHAPTER TEN

JOANNA WAS CROUCHED over the toilet in the bathroom when she heard someone knock at her bedroom door.

It could only be her mother, she thought unhappily, dragging herself to her feet. Glenys had been worried about her the night before when she’d thrown up after supper. Evidently the fact that Joanna hadn’t as yet come down for breakfast had added to her concern.

When she emerged from the bathroom, her mother was standing in the bedroom doorway, her blue eyes, not unlike Joanna’s, narrowed in dismay. ‘Oh, darling,’ she said. ‘Have you been sick again? Do you think it was that risotto we had for supper yesterday evening? Lionel swore those prawns were fresh that morning, but, I must admit, I had my doubts.’

Joanna blew out a breath and managed to straighten her shoulders. It was tempting to let her mother go on thinking that it was something she’d eaten that had caused her upset stomach.

But it wasn’t. She’d been fighting off the truth for over three weeks now. And it wasn’t going to go away.

‘I’m sure the risotto was fine,’ she said, putting off the moment. ‘You look nice,’ she added, in an effort to divert herself. And it was true, in a pink silk tee and short dungarees, her mother looked younger than she’d done for years.

‘Thank you, darling.’

Glenys smiled her pleasure and, moving to the mirror above the vanity, Joanna gave her own appearance a critical appraisal. The loose-fitting tank and khaki shorts hid the slightly enlarged shape of her breasts, which her mother might or might not notice. Pushing back her hair, she twisted it into a careless knot and then turned to face her mother again.

Glenys looked anxious. ‘Are you still planning on going back to London tomorrow?’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘I have to,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘And I have enjoyed this break. It was just what I needed.’

‘Well, I must admit I was delighted when you said you were coming down again. Two visits in less than a month. It must be a record.’ She paused. ‘Is it anything to do with Matt?’

‘Why should you think that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Her mother looked anxious. ‘Has he been to see you again?’

‘No.’ Joanna was defensive. ‘I told you, Matt and I are getting a divorce.’

‘Well, I know what you said…but ever since you got here a few days ago, I’ve felt you had something on your mind.’

And of course, she had.

‘David is expecting me back,’ Joanna said now, trying to change the subject. ‘August is a busy month, and he does pay my salary, you know.’

Glenys snorted. ‘Surely, you’re not going to pretend you need the money, Joanna. Despite what you say about Matt, I’m sure he gives you a generous allowance.

‘I don’t take money from Matt.’

‘Well, I’m sure your father left you comfortably off, then,’ exclaimed her mother impatiently. ‘I remember you telling me that Matt’s company paid him millions of dollars for Carlyle Construction.’

Joanna didn’t want to think about that, particularly after what Matt had said.

She couldn’t deny she’d been surprised when her father’s solicitor had told her Angus had been virtually bankrupt when he died. Even the house he’d lived in, and where Joanna had spent her childhood, was mortgaged to the hilt. There’d been a little cash, which had eventually cleared probate. But she couldn’t think where all the money might have gone.

‘I like my job,’ she said, avoiding her mother’s comment. ‘I like my independence.’

‘Nevertheless, Lionel and I worry about you living in London on your own.’

Joanna sighed, and then decided she couldn’t put it off any longer. ‘I won’t be on my own much longer,’ she said, and saw the way her mother’s eyes widened in surprise.

With a wry smile, she continued, ‘I think I’m pregnant, Mum. I need to go back to London to see my doctor. To prove that the two pregnancy tests I took were not—’

‘You’re pregnant!’ Her mother didn’t let her finish. ‘Oh, Joanna, am I going to be a grandmother at last?’ And then, with rather less enthusiasm, ‘I suppose David Bellamy is the father.’

‘No!’ Joanna was appalled that her mother should think such a thing. ‘David’s a friend, that’s all. Look, I didn’t want to tell you this, but he’s already got a partner. A male partner. But, please, keep that to yourself.’

‘Of course.’ But her mother looked only partially relieved. ‘Then who?’

‘It’s Matt’s, of course,’ said Joanna flatly. ‘We spent the night together when I was in Miami. Go figure!’

Glenys stared at her daughter. ‘But—I thought you said you went to ask him for a divorce.’

‘I did.’

‘I can’t believe it.’ Glenys struggled for words. ‘All those years you were trying for a baby…’ Her voice trailed away and she shook her head.

‘It just happened, that’s all. As you say, we’d tried so long to have a baby, I had no idea I’d get pregnant so easily.’

‘Still, there must be something between you two if you spent a night together,’ Glenys protested. ‘Have you told him yet?’

‘No. How could I?’ Joanna wished her mother weren’t so delighted by the news. ‘It—it was a mistake, Mum,’ she said flatly. ‘Now I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do.’

‘But it’s good news, surely,’ exclaimed her mother. ‘You and Matt have always wanted a family.’

‘Yes, but it’s not me and Matt any more.’ Joanna expelled a shaky breath. ‘Is it?’

‘So, what does that mean?’ Glenys frowned. ‘You are going to tell him, aren’t you? You’ve got to, Joanna. It’s his baby, too, remember?’

As if she could forget.

By the time she got back to London, Joanna was still in two minds. She knew she ought to tell Matt, but the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was only getting in touch with him again because she needed his support.

Of course, unless she dipped into the money her father had left her, she probably wouldn’t be able to manage on her own. Childminders cost a small fortune these days. Her plans to use that money to accept David’s invitation and become a partner in the gallery might have to be shelved.

Her mother believed Joanna had no choice but to tell Matt. She also reminded her that in a few months she wouldn’t be able to work at all. Glenys suggested that when she left the gallery, she should move to Cornwall. She could stay with them until the baby was born.

‘It will give you a breathing space,’ she’d argued, when Joanna had demurred. ‘I’m not asking you to move in with us permanently. But I don’t like the idea of you having to cope with this alone.’

Joanna had left, assuring her that she’d do nothing without consulting her mother first, and realised how close she and Glenys had become since her father’s death. The bitterness Angus had always felt towards his ex-wife had certainly influenced Joanna’s teenage years.

David was glad to see her when she got back.

‘This place hasn’t been the same without you around,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I was half afraid you were having second thoughts about investing in the gallery. Are you sure Novak isn’t still in the picture?’

‘Hardly,’ Joanna corrected him drily. ‘As far as Matt is concerned, our marriage is over.’

‘Well, you know how jealous I am,’ said David good-humouredly. ‘Anyway, I haven’t forgotten he didn’t exactly follow you back to England, did he? It’s possible he’s seeing someone else.’

But, remembering what Matt had said, Joanna found his comments rather irritating. ‘You know it was nothing like that,’ she said shortly. ‘I told you his father had had another stroke. Matt’s been dealing with the company in his absence.’ She paused, and then added unwillingly, ‘In any case, he’s probably left the company by now. He’s moving to the Bahamas—to write a book.’

‘You’re kidding.’ David was incredulous, not realising he was treading on dangerous ground. ‘Perhaps he thinks if he tells you he’s leaving NovCo, you won’t fleece him for as much alimony, eh?’

Joanna resented his suggestion that Matt might cheat her. Yet wasn’t that exactly what her father had said? She sighed, bending her head. ‘I don’t want any alimony,’ she declared stiffly. ‘Matt knows I can support myself.’

A sudden awareness of the baby and the problems it might create came into her mind. It was stupid, she knew, but she was dreading telling David. He apparently already thought she was gullible. He had yet to discover how gullible she’d been.

‘You’re crazy!’ he said now, and for a moment Joanna was afraid she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. But when he continued, she soon realised she’d been mistaken. ‘If I was in your shoes. I’d take him for every penny I could get.’

Needing confirmation of her condition, Joanna made an appointment with her doctor. And came out of the surgery with a handful of leaflets in her hands.

Okay, it was definite. She was expecting a baby. In the spring, Dr Foulds had told her. He would make an appointment in a few weeks for her to have her first scan at the local hospital, and they would be able to give her a date for when the baby was actually due.

Despite all her misgivings, Joanna found the prospect exciting. How ironic it was that she’d become pregnant now after only one night of lovemaking, when in the past she’d begun to believe she couldn’t conceive.

She was having a baby. What was less certain was how Matt would feel about it. She’d finally decided that she had to tell him. Matt was the baby’s father. It wouldn’t be fair to keep it from him.

To that end, she waited until a time she could be reasonably sure he would be at the New York apartment. It was a little over a month since he’d visited London, but with Oliver still so ill, perhaps he might not have moved to the Bahamas quite yet.

She phoned in the early morning, New York time. Which meant she’d had to sneak out of the gallery so David didn’t hear the call. She chose the little café where she often shopped for cappuccinos in the middle of the morning. Finding an empty booth, she ordered a diet soda, and made the call.

The phone seemed to ring for an unconscionable amount of time before it was answered. Joanna had been on the point of giving up, having decided that Matt had either left early for the office or he’d already sold the apartment.

Then the receiver was lifted and a languid female voice said, ‘Do you know what time it is?’

Joanna swallowed convulsively, unable to think of anything to say. The woman’s voice was not familiar and it was easy for her to think the worst. That Matt had taken a mistress, as David had said.

She was tempted to end the call, but she forced herself to speak. Swallowing again, she said, ‘Is that you, Sophie? Is Matt there? I’d like to speak to him.’

The woman—girl, whoever she was—gave an impatient sigh. ‘I’m not Sophie,’ she said shortly. ‘And Matt’s not here. In any case, he wouldn’t appreciate you calling him at this hour of the morning. Whatever it is, call him on his mobile. We usually find that’s the safest thing to do.’

Joanna’s mouth was unpleasantly dry, but she had to go on. ‘I know the office number, but I don’t know his mobile,’ she admitted unwillingly.

The girl sighed again. ‘If you give me your name, I’ll tell him you called.’

‘No.’ All Joanna wanted to do now was end the call. ‘No, it’s not important. I—I’ll catch him later.’

‘Okay.’ The woman sounded as if she didn’t care one way or the other. Then, offhandedly, ‘I don’t know his mobile number either. But they might be willing to give it to you at the office.’

Joanna doubted it, but she said, ‘Thanks,’ and rang off. Annoyingly, she found she was shaking. She almost spilled the diet soda the girl brought for her, and, thrusting a five-pound note down on the table, she made her escape.

Outside, in the street, she couldn’t prevent the hot tears that filled her eyes at the knowledge that someone else was staying in Matt’s apartment. Someone who didn’t know his mobile number, which was odd.

Was she just some female escort he’d brought home with him? Surely he hadn’t had time to start a more permanent affair. But they were obviously sleeping together? Why else would a strange—sleepy—woman answer his phone at six o’clock in the morning?

She considered ringing again in the evening. But the thought of giving him her news, maybe in the presence of a new girlfriend, filled her with distaste. Remembering the angry way he’d left her apartment weeks ago, and now this morning’s phone call, she was no longer sure what his reaction would be.

She sighed. Well, for the present, she would keep the baby’s existence to herself. She would tell Matt, she assured herself. When she was ready. But he couldn’t blame her for being secretive if he was keeping secrets of his own.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MATT NOVAK SWUNG the tiller of his sleek racing dinghy towards the shore, and, ducking to avoid the boom, he guided the craft smoothly into the landing at Long Point.

It was still comparatively early in the morning. These days he found it difficult to sleep beyond six a.m., and in consequence he’d started taking the dinghy out before many of his fellow yachtsmen were on the water. Which suited him just fine.

While he was gradually adapting to the island lifestyle, he had no desire to get to know other ex-pats like himself. He had come to the Bahamas to escape the corporate world. Not to make friends with the kind of people he’d left behind.

‘You okay, Mr Matt?’

Henry Powell was waiting for him on the jetty and caught the rope that Matt threw to him, expertly fastening the craft to an iron mooring ring.

‘I’m good,’ Matt responded, checking that the sail was secure before vaulting onto the landing. He raked back his unruly hair with a careless hand. ‘Beautiful morning, Henry.’

‘All mornings on Cable Cay are beautiful mornings,’ declared Henry proudly.

He was an older man, of medium height and thick-set, his dark face leathery, lined from the sun. He and Matt had known one another since Matt was a boy, when his father had first brought him here on holiday all those years ago.

Oliver Novak had bought the villa at Long Point, but in recent years, he’d taken to renting it out during the winter months, with Henry acting as his steward. But Henry had been delighted when Matt had decided to buy the place from his father and occupy it on a more permanent basis.

Matt occasionally spent a week in New York, acting as his father’s deputy, but since Sophie was making such a success of her tenure as CEO of NovCo, it was no longer such a necessary chore.

Henry paused now, and then added significantly, ‘You ready to go up to the villa now, Mr Matt? ’Cos I have to tell you, you got a visitor.’

Matt stifled a curse and gave the older man a grim look. ‘A visitor?’ He could only think of his mother and he definitely did not want to see her.

‘Yes, sir, Mr Matt.’ Henry evidently sensed it was not news his employer wanted to hear. ‘It’s Ms Sophie. She spent last night in Nassau and flew out here this morning.’

‘Sophie?’ Matt was both shocked and alarmed. He could think of no reason why Sophie might come all this way to see him unless something bad had happened to their father. Or to the company. ‘Did she say why she was here?’ he queried, and Henry shook his head. ‘Does she look worried? Upset? What?’

Henry was thoughtful for a moment. ‘She looks pretty much the way she always looks,’ he decided cheerfully. ‘I left her drinking coffee with Teresa.’

Matt checked the pockets of his shorts for his phone and briefly scanned the screen. No texts were screaming at him; no email messages begging to be read. So why the hell hadn’t Sophie warned him she was coming? Unless she’d already guessed she wouldn’t be welcome.

The landing where Matt was standing was just a few yards from the villa. Away to his left, one of the island’s beautiful white sand beaches stretched away to a rocky promontory. To his right, the beach gave way to a thicket of mangroves clustered at the water’s edge, which gave Long Point its complete privacy.

A little way beyond the mangroves was the small anchorage of Cable Bay, a favourite spot with the sailing fraternity. And not far from that was the small township of Cable Cay itself, and the tiny airport of Cable West.

Matt started towards the villa. He was surrounded by blossoming poinsettia, flowering hibiscus, and other colourful shrubs; vivid splashes of colour amid the palms that shielded the property from public view. That was one of the reasons why Oliver Novak had originally bought the villa. It was an oasis of privacy on what was a small, but fairly popular, island.

As Matt stalked up the crushed shell path to the villa, he endeavoured to find some comfort in the fact that had it been a matter of life and death, his mother would surely have let him know.

He found Sophie relaxing on the veranda that encircled the villa. A jug of coffee and two mugs were on the table in front of her, although Teresa had obviously returned to her duties.

Sophie had evidently packed for the weather in the islands. Her dark hair was casually caught up in a ponytail, and beige shorts and a floral halter top were definitely not the usual wear for January in New York.

‘Hey,’ she said, when she saw him, getting up as he climbed the steps to the veranda and bestowing a sisterly kiss on his stubbled cheek. ‘Oh, you need a shave!’

Matt shrugged. ‘I’m not going anywhere, am I?’ He paused. ‘How are things in New York?’

‘Things are going great. As you know, if you remember how it was on your last visit.’ Sophie sank back into her seat. ‘We got the contract for the new exploration in the Arctic. And Andy Reichert thinks we might exceed all expectations this year.’

Matt pulled a wry face. ‘Good for Andy.’

‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

Matt shook his head. ‘I always thought he’d make a good CFO. Give him my congratulations and tell him in my opinion he’s the best man for the job.’

Sophie snorted. ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.’

‘You’re doing good, too, of course,’ said Matt mildly, aware that Sophie could take offence very easily. ‘But I can’t believe you came here just to brag about your and Andy’s success. What’s going on? Dad and Mom are okay, aren’t they?’

Sophie looked a little less confident now. ‘Oh—sure,’ she said. ‘Dad has physio every day, and, although he’ll never be the man he once was, he’s gradually coming to terms with his limitations.’ She paused. ‘Mom’s okay, too. I guess she’s glad Dad’s back home in Miami.’

‘Right.’ Matt tried to keep his impatience in check and with some tolerance, he said, ‘So what is this? A break from routine? An impromptu holiday? If so, you should have let me—’

‘Have you seen Joanna lately?’

Matt frowned. ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Why would I? We’re divorced, Sophie. You know that.’

‘Has she been in touch?’

‘No.’ Matt was getting impatient. ‘What is this, Sophie? Why are you asking me these questions?’

Sophie sighed. ‘I just wondered if she’d phoned you, that’s all. Do you think she’d have let you know if she was thinking of getting married again?’

Sophie’s words hit Matt like a blow to his solar plexus. For a few moments, he could only stand there, gazing blankly at her, striving to breathe normally. Then he sought one of the cushioned bamboo chairs at the other side of the table and dragged himself into it.

Sophie looked anxious now, and when Henry appeared from the back of the villa, she said swiftly, ‘Will you get some brandy for Mr Matt? He—he’s not feeling well.’

‘Sure thing,’ began the old man, but Matt stopped him.

‘No brandy, Henry. Coffee will do.’

When they were alone again, Matt sucked in a grim breath. ‘Who told you she’s getting married again?’

‘No one.’ Sophie looked uncomfortable now. ‘I just thought she might be.’

‘And why would you think that? Have you spoken to Joanna?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Well, I have seen her.’ She paused. ‘But I haven’t spoken to her.’

‘So this is all supposition?’

‘Sort of.’

‘What do you mean—sort of?’

Sophie looked unhappy now. ‘It’s not up to me to tell you what’s going on. I came here with the best of intentions. I can’t help it if you don’t like my news.’

Matt shook his head. ‘What Joanna does or doesn’t do is no concern of mine any more,’ he reminded her. ‘Okay, I agree, she might have let me know if she was thinking of getting married again. But it’s really nothing to do with me.’ He paused. ‘Where did this come from anyway? The London office?’

‘Well, I was in London,’ Sophie agreed reluctantly. ‘Actually, I’d decided to look her up.’ Sophie hesitated. ‘I went to the gallery. A week ago.’

Matt scowled. ‘So why didn’t you speak to her?’

‘I—I intended to, obviously.’ She paused and then continued, ‘I’d got a taxi to the gallery. It was a spur of the moment thing, and I was about to get out of the cab when I saw her. But she wasn’t alone. She was—she was with another man. They were really—you know—cosy with one another. He—kissed her, actually. So I just asked the driver to take me back to Oxford Street.’

Matt stifled a curse. Bellamy, he thought grimly. The other man had just been waiting for their divorce to be made final before making his move. Matt didn’t really know why he cared. Dammit, why couldn’t Sophie have kept this information to herself?

His scowl deepening, he said, ‘And you really expect me to go and see her?’ He shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘I think she might like to see you, that’s all.’

Matt’s mouth compressed. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Probably not.’ Sophie shrugged as if getting tired of the argument.

Matt gave her a brooding look. Joanna had always insisted that she and Bellamy were friends. Yet foolish as it was, he couldn’t bear the thought of her with anyone else.

Damn her!

His scowl deepened. ‘So do you think I’m harbouring some desperate wish to see her again?’

‘Aren’t you?’ Sophie was annoyingly direct.

Matt’s jaw hardened. ‘You should have got out of the cab and asked her what was going on instead of bringing this to me.’

Sophie groaned. ‘But I wouldn’t have known what to say.’

‘And you think I would?’

Matt’s hands curled into fists on the table. But fortunately, Henry appeared at that moment with a fresh pot of coffee, sugar, cream and two cups, and set his burden carefully in front of Sophie.

‘Will you…?’ he began and Sophie nodded.

‘Leave it to me, Henry,’ she said, with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’

She poured two cups, leaving Matt’s black but adding two sugars before pushing the cup towards him. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Drink it. You look as if you need it.’

Matt’s lips twisted. ‘Do I?’ His tone was gruff. ‘Sophie, I haven’t seen Joanna in—what? Five months?’

‘But you did go to London to see her after our father’s stroke, didn’t you? I thought maybe you and she had mended your differences or something.’

Matt shrugged. ‘Hardly that.’

‘But you took her back to the hotel when she was in Miami.’ Sophie hesitated. ‘Did you sleep with her?’

Matt took the coffee she’d poured him and swallowed a mouthful before replying, ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

Sophie stared at him incredulously. ‘You were with her when I called the hotel to tell you about our father, weren’t you? Was she the reason why you didn’t answer your phone? My God, Matt, I thought you had more sense than that.’

Not that it mattered now, but Matt had thought so, too.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JOANNA CARRIED THE cup of tea she’d just made for herself through to the front office. She didn’t drink coffee these days, and, truth to tell, she hadn’t missed it.

All the same, she didn’t mind admitting she was tired, even though it was barely four o’clock in the afternoon. Getting up at half-past seven in the morning to arrive at the gallery before nine o’clock had begun to take its toll.

Still, she consoled herself, she only had two more days to go before she left to have the baby. Well, not exactly to have the baby, she corrected herself. But she was over six months now and she’d finally given in and accepted her mother’s invitation to spend the latter weeks of her pregnancy in Padsworth.

What happened after the baby was born was another matter. All she knew for sure was that during the course of the pregnancy, she had become attached to the small life growing inside her. He had become a part of her. The fact that he was a part of Matt, too, was something she still had to deal with.

Sitting down, she ran her hand over the bump that swelled her jersey shift. She felt the kick that pushed against her palm and couldn’t prevent a smile. Evidently her son wasn’t tired, she acknowledged. Even though his energetic antics had kept her awake half the night.

Not for the first time in recent weeks, she thought about her ex-husband and what he was doing now. The fact that he knew nothing about his son’s existence had begun to play on her mind. But she would tell him, she assured herself. She was only putting it off until the baby was born.

To begin with, she’d felt justified in not calling him again. She didn’t want to embarrass him, she told herself. And she certainly didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. This woman he was with: who knew how serious that was? After the way he’d walked out of her apartment, she’d had no reason to believe he would be glad to hear from her again.

But as the weeks went by and the baby grew inside her, she knew she’d been fooling herself. Of course, he’d want to know about the baby. The trouble was, she had no idea how she could approach him now. She should have phoned again when she’d had the chance, she thought unhappily. Matt might not care about her, but she was sure he’d care about the baby.

The fact that he hadn’t challenged her petition for divorce was some justification, surely. Apparently, the fact that there might have been consequences from the night they’d slept together hadn’t occurred to him. But why would they? she’d mused ruefully. They’d been trying for a baby for so many years without any success.

No, after that confrontation in London, he appeared to have washed his hands of her. And she consoled herself with the thought that there’d be time enough to think about how she was going to handle the situation after the baby was born. The last communication she’d had from his solicitor had quoted the address on Cable Cay that Matt had given her. So, evidently, he’d left NovCo now and moved to the Bahamas, as he’d planned.

Alone?

Pushing that thought aside, Joanna studied the details of the showing that was taking place the following week on the website. Since becoming a partner in the business, she’d set up the website and acquired a list of email addresses she could use to announce forthcoming events. It had worked well and drawn a lot of new people into the gallery, people who only learned about things through social media.

The young artist being featured this coming week was a favourite of hers, and she hoped the exhibition went well. Unfortunately—or fortunately, whichever way you looked at it—Joanna would not be around to see it. She was leaving for Cornwall on Saturday, much against David’s better judgement, she had to admit.

He believed she’d be better off staying in London. He’d be on hand if she needed him, and she could always continue updating the website from home. These days, he deferred more and more to her judgement, and there was no doubt that she would miss the excitement of not knowing what each day was going to bring.

Despite learning how expensive a childminder was going to be, she’d still been able to invest in the gallery, which she hoped would provide security for the future. Initially, she’d believed she could only afford one or the other. But because when she and Matt had divorced, she’d been contacted by Matt’s solicitor with a view to selling her shares in NovCo, she’d decided she owed it to her father to accept the interest they’d made.

As she sipped her tea, she heard the outer door open and guessed her partner was back from lunch. David had been schmoozing with a wealthy collector, who he hoped would agree to attend the following week’s showing.

She heard footsteps in the gallery, but David didn’t immediately come through to the office. Either he was making adjustments to the display or it wasn’t David at all. Which meant she should show her face. It wouldn’t do to allow a would-be customer to feel neglected.

Setting down her tea, she rose to her feet, briefly checking her reflection in the glass of a picture hung above David’s desk. She wore her hair in a single braid these days and, apart from a few errant strands curling about her ears, it hung smoothly over one shoulder.

But it was almost the end of the day and any make-up she’d started out with was virtually non-existent. Not that a touch of mascara and a smear of cinnamon lip gloss achieved much. All the same, with her prominent bump, she bore little resemblance to the glamorous receptionists she’d seen in other galleries around town.

Stepping out into the gallery proper, she glanced quickly about her. Had she been mistaken? There didn’t appear to be anybody about. But the gallery was quite big, and the stone bases supporting the current display of bronzes blocked her view.

‘Hello,’ she called, hoping someone would answer. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so.’

The voice was sardonic but, in spite of the passage of time, so recognisable that Joanna’s breath caught helplessly in the back of her throat.

Matt, she saw with some dismay, stepped out from behind the wooden frame that stood at the front of the gallery, announcing the current artist’s identity. In narrow-fitting jeans and a thigh-length leather jacket, the collar tipped up against the rain, he looked heartbreakingly familiar, and she found it hard to tear her eyes away.

Licking her dry lips, she said, ‘Matt.’ She took a breath. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Do you need to ask?’

Looking at Joanna now, Matt was glad he’d had the sense to check out the gallery before actually speaking to her.

Despite what Sophie had said, he hadn’t intended to make this trip, but something—some suspicion, perhaps, that Sophie hadn’t been entirely honest with him—had compelled him to find out for himself. He’d arrived in London late the previous day—much against his better judgement, it was true—and as soon as he’d checked into his hotel, he’d had his chauffeur bring him here.

It was January and it had been fairly dark when he’d arrived at the gallery and, as it happened, Joanna had just been leaving for the day. She’d been alone, a long wraparound coat attempting to conceal her appearance, but Matt had known at once what it was Sophie had been trying so hard not to say.

Joanna was pregnant. And fairly well advanced if he didn’t miss his guess. But how well advanced and whose baby was it? He had a right to be suspicious, when not only had she not told him, but she knew as well as he did how singularly unsuccessful in their efforts to get pregnant they had been.

He hadn’t attempted to speak to her then. He couldn’t.

He’d had Jack drive him back to his hotel and had spent the rest of the evening getting mindlessly drunk, trying to erase the image of his wife in bed with another man.

This morning, he’d phoned Sophie, uncaring that it had been the middle of the night in New York, and expunged a little of his frustration on her. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He’d practically yelled the words. ‘I’d at least have been warned what to expect.’

He’d felt guilty later, and he’d phoned again and apologised for blaming her. But, God Almighty, what had he done to deserve this? he wondered. And why the hell hadn’t Joanna told him herself?

Though why should she, he argued, if it wasn’t his baby? He might be beating himself up unnecessarily over an event that had nothing to do with him. On top of which, he had the mother of all headaches, a combination of a hangover and the bitter recriminations that had kept him awake half the night.

Now he moved forward. ‘Well, let me see,’ he said, answering her question, and there wasn’t an atom of warmth in his voice. ‘I thought you might have something you wanted to tell me.’ His eyes swept insolently down her body, lingering with undisguised contempt on the bump that swelled her dress. ‘Ah, I see you do.’

The more charitable thoughts Joanna had been having about her ex-husband vanished with his words. His arrogance infuriated her.

‘Why should you presume I have anything to tell you?’ she demanded, forgetting all about the feelings of guilt she had been nurturing earlier. Her hand slid protectively over her belly. ‘I don’t believe I’ve made any claim against you.’

Matt’s eyes turned hostile. Suddenly, despite what he’d been thinking, he knew the baby was his. Joanna had never been much good at lying, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes.

‘Just when were you planning on telling me?’ he demanded, ignoring the unexpected thrill of anticipation. ‘I hate to remind you, but I do have some rights where this baby is concerned.’

Somehow Joanna found the words to defend herself. Which wasn’t easy when Matt was gazing at her with contempt in his eyes. His jaw had hardened and, in spite of everything, she couldn’t look away from him. He looked so good, she thought resentfully. His skin was deeply tanned, evidence of his change of occupation, and he’d had his hair cut shorter, exposing the strong column of his neck. Evidently, he’d been enjoying life; apparently unaware that once again he had radically changed hers.

‘I believe you’ll find that in the UK, the mother has parental rights over the father,’ she said stiffly, not realising she was virtually admitting the baby was his.

Matt’s hands curled into fists in the pockets of his jacket. She was so bloody smug, he thought angrily. Talking to him about rights when she hadn’t even had the decency to tell him she was pregnant. Because if he’d had any lingering doubts about its parentage, she’d just removed them.

Sucking in a breath, he shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll just wait until the child is born and I can prove that I’m the father. I believe there are Parental Responsibility Orders issued by your courts that might—’

Joanna held up a hand. ‘All right, all right,’ she broke in unsteadily. ‘It’s your baby. I’m not denying it.’

‘So why wasn’t I told?’ Matt asked.

‘I—’ Joanna hesitated, not wanting to continue but knowing she had to. ‘I tried. I rang your New York apartment early one morning, as soon as I knew for certain that I was pregnant. Some—some woman answered.’

‘What woman?’ Matt scowled. ‘Did you get her name?’

‘No, I didn’t get her name.’ Joanna gasped. ‘My God, have there been so many women staying in your apartment that you don’t even know who it was?’

‘Of course not.’ Matt expelled a weary breath. ‘It was probably Andy Reichert’s wife. He and his family are living in the apartment at present.’ He hesitated. ‘Or it could have been his daughter, I suppose.’

Joanna felt her face burning with unwelcome colour. ‘Well—well, I didn’t know that, did I? Anyway, whoever it was, she said you weren’t there. That I should ring back later.’

‘Did you give her your name?’

‘No.’ Joanna sighed.

‘Did you ring back later?’

‘No.’ Joanna bit her lip. ‘I was—upset. I really thought that—’

‘Yes, I can guess what you thought.’ Matt was finding it difficult to keep his temper. ‘How do you think I felt when my own sister had to give me some clue as to what was going on?’

‘Sophie?’ Joanna frowned. ‘So how did she find out?’

‘She saw you. She was working in London and thought she’d look you up.’

‘But she didn’t.’

‘Oh, she did, but you didn’t see her. Sophie has some discretion.’ He shook his head incredulously. ‘For God’s sake, Joanna, what could she have said to you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Joanna was on edge. ‘Maybe I’d have welcomed her advice.’

‘Her advice!’

Matt tamped down his anger with an effort. She knew better than anyone that they’d tried for years to have a baby. And now, when it had happened, she’d kept the news to herself, because she’d apparently believed he was having an affair.

If she hadn’t killed any feelings he might have had for her months ago, she’d certainly done a good job now. Yet he couldn’t deny her condition suited her. There was a quality about her, that famous pregnancy glow, he supposed, that surrounded her. She was wearing her hair longer, too, and the braid she wore curled sensuously about her breast.

He wondered if she was seeing anyone. Just because she was pregnant didn’t mean there wasn’t a man hanging around. Some men were attracted to pregnant women. And despite his own feelings towards her, he didn’t like the thought of another man in her bed.

Which was stupid, he chided himself. It wasn’t as if he’d been entirely celibate since their divorce. Okay, there’d only been that one occasion when he’d submitted to taking another woman to bed. But the fact was, although she’d been more than willing, he’d left without consummating the affair.

‘So what now?’ Matt asked tersely. ‘I’m assuming from your words that you’ve had some thoughts about the future.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘I’m keeping the baby, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘It wasn’t. I would have thought that was a given.’ Matt frowned. ‘So, surely you aren’t planning on working until the baby is born. Dammit, Joanna, use some of the money I’ve deposited to your account in the past and give yourself a break.’

Joanna swallowed. Should she tell him she was going to stay with her mother and Lionel? And if she did, would he insist on speaking to them, too? The alternative was letting him think she was going to go on working, and who knew if he’d turn up again when she wasn’t here?

‘Well, I—’ she was beginning, when the outer door opened again and David breezed into the gallery.

He was obviously in a good mood; his face was flushed and she guessed he’d been successful in securing support for the exhibition. Not to mention a few gin and tonics over lunch, which accounted for his florid appearance.

His good humour vanished when he saw Matt, however.

‘Joanna?’ he said, the uncertainty evident in his tone. ‘I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor.’

‘I surprised her.’ Matt’s words overrode any attempt she might have made to explain. ‘As I was in England, I thought I’d check up on Joanna’s condition. It’s not every day your ex-wife finds she’s pregnant with your child after the divorce.’

David gave her a horrified look. ‘It’s his baby!’ he exclaimed, and Joanna wanted to groan in frustration. She’d deliberately not told David who the father was, letting him think it was someone she’d met after she’d returned from Miami.

Matt, meanwhile, was smiling smugly. ‘Of course it’s my baby,’ he said. ‘Why else do you think I’m here?’

Joanna schooled her features. Why was she surprised? All he was really interested in was claiming his child.

How naïve she’d been in thinking he might care about her.

‘So how long has he been here?’ David interrupted her unhappy train of thought with a question of his own. ‘He’s not going down to Cornwall with you, is he?’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SO MUCH FOR keeping her plans to herself, thought Joanna resignedly. For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t David have kept his mouth shut?

‘Of course not,’ she said now. ‘I had no idea Matt was in the country until he turned up. Why on earth would you think I’d ask him to do such a thing?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ David regarded the other man coldly. ‘As he’s the baby’s father, he probably thinks he has some rights.’

‘I do have some rights.’ Matt regarded him with equal contempt. ‘And now would you mind giving us a little privacy?’

David was belligerent. ‘If Joanna had wanted to see you, she’d have told me.’

‘Would she?’ Matt looked enquiringly at Joanna. ‘She apparently kept the baby’s father’s identity a secret.’

‘Probably because she was ashamed of getting involved with you again,’ retorted David angrily. He turned to Joanna. ‘Would you like me to throw him out?’

‘You’re singularly lacking in imagination if you think you could do such a thing,’ drawled Matt drily. ‘Give it up, Bellamy. This is one occasion when your doubtful talents are not needed.’

‘You can’t speak to me like that.’

‘I think I just did.’

‘Oh, please,’ Joanna said, addressing her remarks to no one in particular. It concerned her that David’s face was much redder now and she was afraid his blood pressure was rising. ‘Can we just calm down?’

Thankfully, her ex-husband chose not to pursue the subject and instead turned to Joanna. ‘Am I to understand that you’re planning to spend the remaining months of your pregnancy in Padsworth?’ he enquired coolly, and Joanna put both hands on the small of her back in an effort to relieve the ache in her spine.

She looked tired, thought Matt, realising that she probably spent a considerable part of the day on her feet. But he was fairly sure she wouldn’t welcome any sympathy.

‘Possibly,’ she said, not wanting to admit it, and David chose that moment to intervene again.

‘You have no part in this, Novak. Why don’t you take the hint and get lost?’

Matt ignored him, and Joanna was grateful. Her ex-husband could be dangerous when crossed, and she wished David would just keep his opinions to himself. It was hard enough dealing with Matt, knowing how he felt about her, without having to cope with the other man’s well-meant interference as well.

Matt had evidently come to the same conclusion. ‘I think we need to talk. Privately,’ he said, echoing her sentiments.

‘We can go to my hotel, if you like, or there’s a coffee bar a couple of blocks down the street that looks okay.’

‘All right,’ she said, avoiding David’s outraged expression. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

‘You don’t have to go with him,’ Bellamy began, following her into the office, and she shook her head.

‘It’s better this way,’ she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her heather-coloured tweed duster. ‘And actually, I was thinking of leaving early today. It’s such a horrible afternoon, I doubt anyone else is going to turn up.’

David looked sulky. ‘I wanted to tell you about my lunch with Theo Konstantinos,’ he protested, but Joanna could only shake her head.

‘I’ll hear all about it in the morning,’ she promised, wrapping her coat about her. ‘See you tomorrow.’

A sleek black chauffeur-driven limousine was idling at the kerb outside, clearly in breach of the No Parking zone that operated outside the gallery.

But Joanna had no desire to get into a car with Matt.

‘It’s just a few yards to the café,’ she said, starting along the pavement. ‘If that’s your driver, I’d advise him to move on. The police are pretty vigilant around here.’

Matt scowled. She was probably right, of course, but it was a bloody awful afternoon. He was used to sunshine, to temperatures in the eighties. Even walking maybe a quarter mile in this downpour seemed crazy.

But abandoning any alterative, he stopped at the car and told his driver he’d call him when he wanted picking up. Then he strode after Joanna, amazed that she was still wearing high heels despite her condition.

The coffee shop was crowded. Joanna guessed that a lot of its customers had come inside to shelter from the rain. In consequence, the only seats available were at the counter, tall stools that she had great difficulty in climbing onto at present.

Matt regarded her doubtfully. ‘Do you need a hand?’ he asked, and she gave him an old-fashioned look.

‘I’m pregnant, Matt. Not senile. It’s better than standing, believe me.’

He did believe her. He wouldn’t have been able to stand in those heels. Sliding onto the stool beside her, he steadied himself with his hand on the counter, and his arm inadvertently brushed against her bump. Through the folds of her coat, her belly felt firmer than he’d imagined; solid. Somehow, he’d expected it to be soft and pliable, but it wasn’t.

He realised he wanted to touch her again, to possibly feel a kick from the little person growing inside her. Dear God, it was his child. That reality put everything else into raw perspective.

Matt ordered a coffee for himself, but Joanna said she would just have a diet soda. ‘Do you want a muffin with that?’ he asked, and she gave a reluctant smile.

‘Don’t you think I look fat enough?’ she countered humorously. ‘No, the soda is fine for me. But if you’re hungry—’

‘I’m not.’ Matt wondered if he’d ever feel hungry again.

‘And you’re not fat,’ he assured her. ‘Just—pregnant, that’s all.’

And how incredible was that? Dear God, it was going to take time to get used to the idea.

Meanwhile, Joanna was wondering if he was as nervous as she was. But, no. Matt Novak didn’t do ‘nervous’. Not in her experience anyway. But his lean face did look a little paler than it had done when he’d first walked into the gallery, and she guessed he hadn’t really believed that she was pregnant until then.

Deciding to take the initiative, she said, ‘So what did Sophie say to bring you to London?’

Matt arched a rueful brow as the waiter brought their drinks. ‘Oh, she asked me if I knew if you were getting married again.’

‘Married?’ Joanna looked puzzled and Matt was relieved.

‘I guess it was the only way she knew to get my interest,’ he said drily. ‘She couldn’t be sure I’d do anything about it, but she took that chance.’

Joanna nodded. ‘Knowing what a control freak you are, I suppose she knew you’d resent me doing anything without your knowledge,’ she remarked, pulling her soda towards her.

‘I’ll ignore that and just say, I was concerned about you,’ he retorted. ‘And I have to admit, the thought that you might be marrying Bellamy wasn’t a good one.’

Joanna sighed. If only he knew. Changing the subject a little, she said, ‘Did Sophie know we’d slept together?’

‘Not initially, no.’

‘But you told her?’

‘She asked,’ said Matt flatly, sprinkling sugar into his coffee.

‘But she didn’t tell you I was pregnant?’

‘No. As I say, Sophie is discreet. Or she can be in certain circumstances.’

‘So your mother doesn’t know you’ve come to England?’

‘Need you ask?’ Matt took a mouthful of his coffee, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. ‘What with my father demanding so much attention, she hasn’t had the time to check up on me.’

‘Oh, God, Oliver, yes.’ Joanna was ashamed she hadn’t asked about his father before. ‘How is he? I’ve thought about him a lot since you told me about his stroke. Has he made a good recovery?’

‘He’ll get there if he stops arguing with the physios,’ replied Matt, pulling a wry face. ‘He’s accepted that he won’t be fit enough to work again, but he can be a pretty difficult patient at times. He’ll never recover the use of his left arm, unfortunately, but, as we keep telling him, that’s a small price to pay for his being alive.’

Joanna nodded. ‘If—when—you see him again, give him my best, won’t you?’

‘I will.’ Then, after a moment, ‘So, how have you been?’

‘Not too bad.’ Joanna sipped her soda. ‘I had some morning sickness to start with, but that’s normal. And during the last few weeks, I’ve been feeling pretty tired by the end of the day. But that’s normal, too. I’m usually in bed by ten.’

Realising she was chattering, Joanna bit her tongue. Matt wasn’t interested in the everyday details of each trimester. He’d meant how was she feeling now? But his response was typical.

‘You shouldn’t still be working,’ he said. ‘Particularly not for that—for Bellamy.’

‘David’s been really kind to me.’ She hesitated. ‘In any case, I don’t actually work for him anymore. I used some of the money you sent after selling my shares in NovCo and became his partner.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Matt was appalled. ‘So what happens next? You get married and share everything?’

‘Oh, Matt.’ She shook her head. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong where David is concerned.’ She bit her lip and then added, much against her better judgement, ‘He’s more likely to be interested in you than in me!’

Matt was stunned. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘No, well, it’s David’s business, not mine. FYI, he has a partner. They’ve been together for—oh, I don’t know—about five years.’

Matt absorbed what she’d said with relief and incredulity. Relief, because it meant his fears so far as David and Joanna were concerned were groundless, and incredulity because David had always seemed to treat her as a man treated the woman he loved.

And perhaps he did love her. Whatever the situation, Matt owed the man an apology. An apology he could never give, he realised, not without betraying Joanna’s trust.

Joanna took a deep breath now. ‘Anyway, as you heard, I’m taking a temporary leave of absence at the end of this week.’

‘To go stay with your mother?’ Matt regarded her closely. ‘Is that what you really want?’

Joanna shrugged. ‘It was her idea,’ she said defensively, tracing a pattern on the counter with her fingernail.

She hesitated and then added, ‘I should tell you, she didn’t approve of me keeping the baby’s existence to myself. When I first saw you, I thought she’d contacted you.’

Matt hesitated, and then said, ‘So how do you feel about spending the next couple months in Cornwall?’

‘Well…’ Joanna sighed and Matt waited somewhat curiously for her reply. ‘I can’t go on working at the gallery, and she and Lionel have been very good to me,’ she added, jiggling the straw in her glass.

Matt realised that she’d probably thought it was a good solution. But that was before he’d been involved. This was his child she was carrying, he thought possessively. He should have some say in where she spent the rest of her pregnancy.

‘I saw from your solicitor’s letter that you’re living in the Bahamas these days,’ she said, probably hoping to divert him, but she’d inadvertently given him an idea.

‘I told you I was going to buy a couple of businesses on Cable Cay,’ said Matt casually. ‘I guess you could say I’m helping to bolster the tourist trade on the island. And I’ve done some writing, too. Not the great American novel,’ he added, as her eyes widened. ‘Just a couple of articles for the local rag.’

Joanna was impressed. ‘And does it keep you busy?’

‘Well, that and some sailing,’ agreed Matt, wanting to get back to the real reason he’d brought it up. He paused. ‘When is the baby due?’

Joanna hesitated, and he wondered if she was thinking of lying to him. But she evidently thought better of it, and replied quietly, ‘Around the middle of March. The second week, I think they said.’

‘Do you have a date?’

Matt regarded her enquiringly, his arm brushing her sleeve as he reached for his coffee, and Joanna felt her awareness of him rocket up a notch. Hormones, she reminded herself again, drawing away from him. One of the women at the clinic she attended had been talking about how sexy she was finding her husband these days. A crazy admission, but Joanna couldn’t say her reactions where Matt was concerned were all that different.

Now she said shortly, ‘Really, Matt, what does it matter? I doubt if you’ll be around when he’s born.’

‘He?’ Matt was instantly distracted, picking up on that before anything else. ‘You’re having a boy? For God’s sake, Joanna, were you going to deprive me of seeing my own son?’

Joanna’s face burned. Matt had spoken thoughtlessly, and his voice had been much too loud. She doubted anyone in their immediate vicinity hadn’t heard that damning accusation.

Eyes turned in their direction; curious eyes, eyes that held a certain amount of sympathy—for him. She wondered if she’d ever be able to come into this coffee shop again without being recognised, or meeting someone’s censorious gaze.

‘I want to go,’ she said abruptly, sliding off her stool, and draping the strap of her bag over one shoulder. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

‘Wait!’

But Joanna wasn’t listening to him. With her head down, she headed for the exit. Let Matt deal with the fallout, she thought resentfully. He’d created it. All she wanted to do was go home and lock herself in her apartment.

And give way to the tears that were threatening to destroy what little confidence she had left.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JOANNA WASN’T SURPRISED when Matt followed her out of the coffee shop. She doubted if even he was prepared to face the sympathy of the customers. For herself, she wished ardently that she’d brought her car this morning. It would have been so much easier to slide behind the wheel of her little Mini and make her getaway.

But these days, she used a bus to take her to and from the gallery. Using her car meant she had to find a parking space, and often that meant a seriously long walk to the gallery. Something she preferred not to do in her present condition.

It was certainly not a day for hanging around. The rain was coming down in sheets. A glance at her watch informed her that the next bus wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes. And there wasn’t even a bus shelter to offer some protection.

Dammit!

Now Matt would offer her a lift, something she had hoped to avoid. Okay, she accepted that he was probably not going to be satisfied until he knew every minute detail of her plans. But being alone with him, talking about their son, meant she was admitting him back into her life.

Yet did she have a choice?

Joanna swallowed a little convulsively. When had she started thinking of the baby as their son?

‘Where the hell are you going?’

Predictably, Matt had caught up to her and he grabbed her sleeve as she hurried along the pavement, bringing her to a standstill. Strong fingers sent bolts of fire up her arm, and, controlling her unwelcome reaction, Joanna turned to give him an indignant look. ‘I’m going home,’ she said, aware that she sounded defensive. ‘Where else?’

Matt seethed. ‘Where did you park your car?’

‘I didn’t.’ Realising that he probably wouldn’t believe her, Joanna sighed. ‘I generally use the bus,’ she appended, watching as Matt fished his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘There’s never anywhere to park around here.’

‘Is that so?’ Matt flicked open the phone, punched one of the keys and then spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Now, Jack,’ he said without preamble, and closed the phone again.

Joanna’s shoulders sagged. ‘Look, I know this meeting hasn’t been very satisfactory—’ she began, and Matt gave her an ironic look.

‘You think?’

‘But it’s a bit early to be discussing what’s going to happen after the baby’s born.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘Dear Lord, I’m still getting used to the idea that you’re having a baby,’ said Matt harshly. ‘And now I hear you’re having it in less than three months.’ He shook his head. ‘I want to know everything about it. And that definitely includes where the baby is born.’

Joanna sighed. She was getting wet and, with an effort, she pulled her arm away.

‘Come on, Joanna.’ There was no humour in his voice. ‘I’m not leaving here without you. We can go to your apartment, or my hotel. It’s up to you.’

Joanna bit her lip, and then, shrugging her shoulders, she allowed him to help her into the back of the limousine that cruised to a stop beside them. There was no point in quarrelling with Matt. Not when she had no defence.

‘Your apartment?’ suggested Matt, sliding in beside her, and she was immediately made aware of his masculinity.

The mixture of aftershave and the clean male smell of his body drifted over her. This was why she’d wished she’d brought her own car. In the confines of the back seat of the limousine, Matt was far too close for comfort. Far too close for her shattered nerves to ignore.

Aware that he was waiting for her response, she glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. ‘No. Your hotel,’ she said firmly, guessing he would not be expecting that. ‘Is it still the Savoy? We can have afternoon tea in the foyer.’

Matt’s mouth compressed. ‘I’m staying at a small hotel in Knightsbridge, actually,’ he responded after a moment. ‘But we can have afternoon tea in my suite, if you like.’

Afternoon tea in his suite!

Not likely.

Joanna’s lips parted. ‘I—well, perhaps you’d better come to the apartment, then,’ she said, as he’d probably anticipated she would. ‘But the place is a mess. I’ve been sorting things out for the past couple of weeks and there are boxes everywhere.’

Matt shrugged and leant forward to give Jack Dougherty his instructions. Then there was an oppressive silence until the chauffeur drew into the grounds of Colgate Court.

The place looked even less attractive in the rain, Matt thought morosely as he followed Joanna into the building. But at least there was no grim-faced caretaker waiting to block their way.

She hadn’t been exaggerating about the state of the apartment. There were suitcases in the foyer and clothes and books all over the living-room floor. Which was another source of irritation. If Matt had delayed his trip to London, she might well have left this address. Would he have guessed where she’d gone, or might he have had to go to the gallery and tackle Bellamy? Not a prospect he’d have viewed with any degree of enthusiasm before today, he admitted wryly.

Matt’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. Thank God, she was leaving here anyway. The room was cold, and he guessed she’d turned off the heating while she was at work. Why did she insist on economising when she had a healthy bank balance? It was ridiculous, and he was feeling bloody frustrated by the whole affair.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Tea?

No, Matt didn’t want any tea. He wouldn’t have said no to a glass of whisky, but he doubted Joanna kept anything like that here.

Joanna had shed her coat and was presently filling the kettle at the small sink. Matt’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to her body but he shook his head impatiently and looked away.

There was little to see beyond the windows as he’d observed the last time he was here. This whole place was a dump, he thought, uncharitably. And possibly damp, too. He was glad Joanna wasn’t planning on having the baby here, even if the prospect of her moving to Cornwall was only slightly less acceptable.

‘I don’t have any coffee to offer you,’ Joanna was continuing, and, turning towards her, Matt noticed that the hand taking a cup from one of the virtually empty cupboards beside her was shaking.

It was difficult for him not to feel sympathetic towards her then. This was the woman he had loved for over six years. He didn’t want to have any feelings for her but, whether it was just a physical thing or not, his body was humming with an unwelcome awareness of her nearness.

He swore, forcing such thoughts aside. He had to concentrate on the present and what he was going to do now.

While the kettle boiled, Joanna came into the living area and gestured towards the easy chair beside the windows. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I won’t be a minute.’

Matt frowned. ‘Why? Where are you going?’

Joanna made an embarrassed gesture. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ she said awkwardly. ‘It’s a hazard of my condition, I’m afraid.’

‘Ah.’

Matt acknowledged the problem and Joanna hurried out of the room. But when she returned, he was still standing in the middle of the floor, and although he’d loosened his leather coat, it still hung damply from his shoulders.

There were drops of rain sparkling on his dark hair, and she recalled how she used to grip handfuls of his hair when he was making love to her. She remembered winding her legs about his hips, emitting muffled cries of satisfaction every time she reached another climax. And then, lying indolently beneath him, content to feel him inside her, prolonging the visceral connection for as long as she possibly could.

Oh, God!

Joanna stifled a groan, wondering when she was going to stop having these—what? Erotic thoughts about Matt? She could blame it on the pregnancy, but she had the feeling that they weren’t going to go away any time soon.

The kettle had boiled in her absence, and as she crossed the room she was intensely conscious of Matt’s eyes assessing her appearance. Desperate to distract him, she asked again if he would like a cup of tea, anything to make this situation less fraught than it seemed, but Matt merely shook his head.

‘No, thanks,’ he said, crossing the living room towards her. He paused in the entry to the kitchen annexe, successfully blocking her exit. ‘Is there any chance that you could just sit down and talk to me?’

‘Oh—sure.’

Joanna managed a quick acknowledgement, adding hot water to the teabag she’d placed in her cup. She opened the fridge and took a carton of milk from the door. Then, when Matt was on the point of demanding that she stop fussing around, she added a little milk to her cup and came towards him.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, indicating that he was in her way, and Matt gritted his teeth and moved aside.

Joanna carried her cup over to the sofa, and seated herself on the edge of the cushions. Then, cradling the hot cup between her icy palms, she said, ‘You should sit down, too.’

Matt dragged one of the dining chairs over to the sofa and, swinging it around, he straddled it, facing her. He’d had time to think about what he was going to say, and Joanna was slightly disturbed by his grim expression.

He was ominously silent for a moment. And then, he said quietly, ‘I don’t want you to spend the rest of your pregnancy in Padsworth.’

Joanna was taken aback. She’d half expected him to join her on the sofa, but he hadn’t. This was a very different Matt from the man she’d slept with in Miami, she thought uneasily.

Gathering her small store of composure, Joanna sipped her tea, to avoid meeting those intent dark eyes. ‘Well, I don’t want to stay here,’ she said at last.

Matt considered her flushed face with some impatience. ‘I don’t want you to stay here either.’

‘So you understand why I’m going to Cornwall?’

‘I understand you thought it was your only option,’ Matt agreed tersely. ‘If you’d told me the truth from the beginning, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I’d have offered you an alternative.’

‘What alternative?’ Joanna still had some pride. ‘I don’t need your support, Matt.’

‘Maybe not, but you’re going to get it,’ he retorted. He controlled his temper with an effort. ‘God, I still can’t believe you kept this from me for so long.’

‘Must we go over that again?’ Joanna sighed. ‘There was always the possibility that you might deny the child was yours.’

‘You think?’

‘All right.’ She lifted a careless hand. ‘I don’t think you would have done that. I’m sorry. I should have told you.’ She paused. ‘Are you happy now?’

Matt’s jaw hardened. ‘Where do you plan to have this baby?’ His voice was tense. ‘I don’t want you going into labour in some remote village in Cornwall. There’s no maternity hospital in the village, I know that, and it’s the middle of winter. If anything goes wrong, how long before you can get expert help?’

‘Why would you think that anything might go wrong?’

‘Joanna, we’ve been trying to have a baby for a few years now. Do you want to take the chance that there might be a complication?’

‘Well, it won’t be the middle of winter when I have the baby,’ she replied reasonably. ‘And nothing’s going to go wrong.’ She crossed her fingers superstitiously. ‘You always think the worst, don’t you?’

‘I wonder why,’ murmured Matt drily, but she heard the bitterness in his voice.

‘In any case, there’s a maternity unit in Padsworth—’

‘A unit.’ The way Matt said the words told her what he thought of that.

‘And there’s a large teaching hospital in the next town,’ she continued staunchly.

‘Which is what? Fifteen miles away? Twenty? On roads that are hardly freeways?’ Matt stifled a curse. ‘What if there’s a late snowfall? Those narrow roads get blocked, you know that. Think what you’re committing yourself to, Joanna. Much as I like your mother, she’s no Florence Nightingale.’

‘So what are you suggesting? That I stay in London where I can be sure of reaching a hospital that you’d consider satisfactory if there was an emergency?’

‘No.’

Matt got up from the chair and pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. It put her eyes on a level with his lower body and she bent her head, trying not to think about the hard muscles that stretched his tight jeans. Or imagine how he’d looked when he was naked. She dragged her eyes away. She needed to get a grip on her emotions, not focus on what she remembered of his lean powerful body.

Matt, apparently unaware of her distraction, spoke tersely. ‘I’m suggesting you come back to Cable Cay with me.’ He rocked back on the heels of his boots and continued, ‘There’s a small house in the grounds at Long Point. A couple of bedrooms, one and a half baths. You would be perfectly comfortable there with your own staff.’

‘You can’t be serious!’

‘Oh, I am.’ Matt had never been more serious in his life. ‘There’s no large hospital on the island, I give you that. But I can put the helicopter I use on standby for an emergency. And there are at least three major hospitals in Nassau, half an hour away, catering to everything from insect bites to heart surgery.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘But I don’t want to go to the Bahamas,’ she protested. She got to her feet. ‘I’ve met the doctor in Padsworth. He knows my mother very well.’

‘It’s not your mother he’ll be dealing with.’ Matt shrugged. ‘Besides, I don’t think it’s your decision. You owe me, Joanna. I may not have been around for most of the pregnancy, but I think I deserve to be there at my son’s birth, don’t you?’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JOANNA ASSURED HERSELF she wasn’t disappointed that Matt hadn’t come to meet her in Nassau. She’d taken the flight directly from London to the Bahamas and been met by Matt’s helicopter pilot, Jacob Mallister, instead. He’d flown her on to Cable West, the small airport that catered to Cable Cay’s commercial and personal needs, where Henry Powell, Matt’s steward, was waiting to greet her.

It was good to see a familiar face. She’d met the old man before on the two occasions she and Matt had holidayed at the villa. ‘Hey, there, Mrs Novak,’ he exclaimed, his dark features beaming as he gave her a hand to negotiate the steps down from the aircraft. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’

‘A sight, certainly,’ agreed Joanna drily, glad to be on solid ground again. She didn’t like helicopters. They tended to dip and sway quite alarmingly, and even the short trip from New Providence had left her feeling slightly sick. The thought of having to do that journey again, when she was in labour, filled her with a sense of alarm.

‘Well, welcome to Cable Cay,’ declared Henry cheerfully. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘It was fine.’ Joanna didn’t mention the helicopter ride. ‘But I’m glad it’s over.’

‘I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve had a good night’s rest,’ he said, taking charge of her cases. ‘I know Mr Matt will be glad you’re here safely.’

Joanna made no comment to this. She doubted Matt would care, one way or the other. He’d given her an ultimatum: let him play a part in the remaining weeks of her pregnancy—which he regarded as only fair—or face the prospect of him petitioning for custody of the child after he was born.

She didn’t know whether Matt would have done such a thing, but she decided not to take the risk. And after all, surely it was no hardship to spend weeks being pampered by servants on a semi-tropical island in the sun.

Now, looking about her, she had to admit that she’d forgotten how picturesque the island was. The view, even this late in the evening, was so beautiful, and, in spite of everything, she had to smile.

The sunset was just gilding the palms that edged the runway, and the heat was very welcome after the rains of January back home. She was glad now that Matt had sent the helicopter. The ferry ride from Nassau would have taken the better part of two hours, and it would have been dark before she arrived.

In the distance, she could see a beach, with the ocean creaming softly on the shoreline. A cool breeze blew in from the water, and she breathed deeply as she gazed towards the horizon. The sea might look dark now, and even a little threatening, she remembered, but when the sun rose in the morning, it would be a delight in shades of pink and green and gold.

‘It is good to see you again,’ Henry continued, stowing her luggage in the back of a gleaming SUV. ‘I think Mr Matt’s been a little lonely since he moved here. But if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking a little pale, Mrs Novak. Maybe a dose of our hot Bahamian sunshine is exactly what you need, eh?’

‘You could be right,’ said Joanna, realising she actually was glad to be here at last. ‘How are you and Teresa these days? I thought you might have retired by now.’

‘Oh, no. We’re not ready for retirement, Mrs Novak,’ he assured her, making sure her suitcases were safely installed. He lifted her father’s old laptop, which she’d brought with her. ‘Will this be okay in the back?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Joanna nodded. ‘It’s just an old machine that used to belong to my father, but I’ve brought some work from home, and I thought it might be useful to keep in touch with my family as well.’

‘Work?’ Henry pulled a face.

‘I run a website,’ Joanna explained. ‘Didn’t Matt tell you, I have shares in an art gallery in London? My partner is keen for me to keep my hand in.’

‘Mr Matt probably forgot,’ said Henry cheerfully. ‘And it’s good to keep in touch with family, too. But Mr Matt’s parents don’t come here like they used to when the children were small.’

Joanna couldn’t deny a sense of relief at these words, but she guessed that since Oliver had had his second stroke, he didn’t travel as much. It hopefully meant she wouldn’t have to face Matt’s mother. Which could only be a plus.

The journey to the villa didn’t take long. Henry spent most of it regaling her with stories of his grandchildren and asking her if she minded that she was having a boy.

‘Mr Matt told me,’ he added, pulling a wry face. ‘He’s pretty buzzed about the whole thing. I know he can’t wait to meet his son.’

‘Henry—’

‘Oh, I know. You and Mr Matt are divorced. But it seems to me that this baby just might bring you back together.’

Joanna was tempted to say, don’t hold your breath, but Henry was so enthusiastic, she didn’t have the heart. Instead, she endeavoured to concentrate on her surroundings, unable to prevent herself from stiffening when the gates of Long Point came into view.

They had been travelling along the winding coast road, but now Henry turned the car between the gates of the Novaks’ residence. ‘The guesthouse is in the grounds, about a quarter of a mile from the villa,’ Henry explained easily, and she remembered Matt had told her much the same.

As if to prove a point, after passing through the gates, Henry turned the car away from the main building. A twisting track led to where a neat little single-storey dwelling nestled among the trees. ‘Here we are.’

Joanna had half expected that Matt would be waiting to meet her. But the cottage appeared to be deserted, and she told herself she was grateful to have the chance to relax before meeting her host.

Someone had indeed prepared the place for her, however. The rooms smelled fresh and inviting, and a note pinned to the door—not in Matt’s hand, she noticed—informed her that a seafood salad had been prepared and was waiting in the fridge.

How kind, she thought, supporting herself with both hands in the small of her back as she followed Henry across the veranda and into the house. Whatever her doubts, Matt had evidently thought of everything.

‘Will I put your bags in the bedroom, Mrs Novak?’ Henry was asking, after staggering up the steps with the laptop tucked precariously under his arm.

‘Yes, please,’ said Joanna, quickly rescuing the small computer. Laptops weren’t cheap, and she’d hate for him to drop it. ‘You lead the way.’

They entered the cottage via a pleasant parlour that apparently ran from the front to the back of the house. Joanna hadn’t yet got her bearings, but she thought there might be a view of the ocean from the back windows. But it was getting too dark to see tonight.

A door to one side opened into a neat kitchen. There was a comprehensive supply of appliances and a small table that was presently laid for one. Then out into a narrow hall with three more doors leading to the bedrooms and the bathroom.

The bedroom Henry showed her into was surprisingly big considering the size of the rest of the cottage, with a huge colonial bed occupying a central position. The bathroom adjoining it was reassuringly modern, with a walk-in shower and a free-standing tub.

‘This is great,’ she said, kicking off her wedges to feel the marble floor cool beneath her bare feet. She couldn’t wait to have a quick shower. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she supposed she should try a little of the salad. Then, if Matt didn’t turn up, she’d fall straight into that huge bed.

‘I’ll leave you now, Mrs Novak,’ said Henry, hovering in the bedroom doorway. ‘Mr Matt asked me to tell him when you’d arrived.’

‘Did he now?’ Joanna wondered if that meant Matt would be arriving later tonight.

But Henry disabused her of that notion. Glancing about him, he continued, ‘He also said he’d come see you in the morning. But if there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to call.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘Do you have the villa’s number?’ Although she was fairly sure she wouldn’t be using it tonight.

‘The phone has a direct line to Mr Matt’s office,’ explained Henry. ‘Just punch in number one and that will put you through. Oh, and your cook and housekeeper will be here tomorrow morning. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help you, too, in any way they can.’

‘Thank you.’ Joanna smiled. ‘Please tell Matt I do appreciate this. And thank you for meeting me, Henry.’

‘My pleasure, Mrs Novak,’ he assured her smilingly, and Joanna wondered if she should tell him that she didn’t call herself Mrs Novak these days.

But that could wait until tomorrow, too. Right now, she was too tired to care.

Matt was sitting on the veranda, enjoying a tumbler of whisky over ice, when Henry drove up to the villa. The older man parked the vehicle behind the house and then came up onto the veranda to report to his employer.

‘All present and correct,’ he said, nodding his curly grey head approvingly. ‘Can I do anything else for you, sir?’

‘I don’t think so, Henry.’ Then, as the man would have turned away, ‘Does she look okay? How was her journey?’

‘Mrs Novak looks fine,’ said Henry enthusiastically. ‘A little pale—and tired, I think—but I guess it’s been a long day.’

‘I guess.’ Matt was thoughtful. ‘Did she like the cottage?’

‘Oh, yes, sir.’ Henry grinned. ‘I think she loved the place at first sight. She asked me to tell you so. And when Callie and Rowena take over, I think she’ll be very happy there.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Matt, wishing he could be as certain. He hadn’t forgotten that if it hadn’t been for some manipulation on his part, Joanna would be in Cornwall by now.

‘I didn’t help her unpack her luggage.’ Henry sounded doubtful. ‘But I expect she’d prefer to do that herself anyway.

‘Just a couple of cases and a laptop, that’s all.’

‘A laptop?’ Matt was intrigued.

‘Yes, she told me it had belonged to her father,’ Henry agreed thoughtfully. ‘She says she plans to do some work while she’s here.’

‘Work?’ Like Henry, Matt was surprised to hear this.

‘Yes, sir. Seems like the lady operates a website for some gallery she helps to run in London,’ said Henry, nodding. ‘Will that be all, Mr Matt?’

He was clearly waiting to go and get his supper, and Matt nodded. ‘Sure thing,’ he said, raising his glass, though he wasn’t altogether happy about Joanna’s plans to keep working for the gallery while she was here. But, at least she was here, where he could keep an eye on her.

For a while, after the man had gone, Matt remained where he was, watching the sunset. Teresa had cooked a steak for his supper, but he’d hardly eaten a thing. He hadn’t relaxed, even when his pilot, Jacob, had told him they were landing. Not until Henry had arrived to say Joanna was installed at the villa had his tension subsided.

An hour later, he left the comfort of the bamboo lounger and strolled restlessly to the edge of the veranda. Hooking his hip over the wooden rail, he gazed broodingly towards the cottage. He couldn’t see anything. It was too dark. But the temptation to go and check on his visitor was strong.

He’d had serious thoughts about the future since he’d returned to the Bahamas. One thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to play an active part in his child’s life. However Joanna felt, he wouldn’t compromise. Angus might have robbed him of his wife, but he’d be damned if he’d rob him of his son as well.

Foolishly perhaps, Matt couldn’t forget that night in Miami. Joanna had given herself to him so ardently. He had to wonder, if his father hadn’t been taken ill and he’d been able to follow her to London the next day, would the outcome have been the same? Or was that just wishful thinking?

He scowled and, finishing the last of his Scotch, he got up from the rail and dropped his glass onto the table. He was getting maudlin, he thought. Discovering he was going to be a father had done that to him. Nothing else.

After all, when he’d left her apartment after following her to England, he’d had no intention of seeing her again. And, despite his comparative isolation here, he’d been managing to make a satisfactory life for himself.

He wrote most mornings, and, when he got writer’s block, he had the businesses in town to check on. He’d actually been thinking he might get married again one day, although it was not a priority. But his parents wanted grandchildren and he’d had to acknowledge that as his father’s only son, he had some responsibilities in that regard.

Discovering Joanna was pregnant had thrown any other plans out of the window. And learning he was going to have a son had been the icing on the cake. During the long nights, as he’d waited for her to come to the island, he’d found himself wondering if he could persuade her to stay.

But hearing about her plans to keep working, he doubted she had anything similar in mind.

He scowled into the darkness, wondering a little anxiously if she’d remembered to lock her doors. People didn’t always lock their doors on Cable Cay, and it was unlikely anyone would disturb her, but Matt couldn’t put it out of his mind.

The sudden piercing scream that rent the peace of the evening set Matt’s heart pounding. The sound had definitely come from the cottage, and, after what he’d been thinking, his blood went cold.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leapt down the steps and started along the path to the villa, all manner of horrific scenarios racing through his mind. If anyone had invaded the cottage, he’d kill them. And if they’d touched her…

But he refused to continue that thought.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MATT COVERED THE quarter-mile in minutes. Before he reached the cottage, he heard someone running after him and guessed that Henry, too, had heard the scream.

‘That was Mrs Novak, wasn’t it?’ the man panted as he caught up with Matt. ‘You don’t think there’s an intruder, do you?’ Henry persisted, and Matt was glad the older man couldn’t see his face.

‘I hope not,’ he retorted grimly, already planning what he would do if anyone had touched Joanna.

They reached the cottage and Matt bounded up the steps to bang on the door. But there was no need to announce his arrival. The door was unlocked, and, remembering his earlier fears on Joanna’s behalf, he hoped it was she who hadn’t turned the key.

‘Joanna!’ he yelled, bursting into the parlour, and heard what he thought was a responding cry coming from the other side of the house. It was from one of the bedrooms, he thought, his nerves as taut as violin strings. What was going on?

Henry was right behind him when he reached the bedroom where the sound had come from. The door was shut, which might or might not be a good thing. But then he heard Joanna call, ‘Matt! Matt, is that you?’ and realised that whatever had happened, she was still okay.

However, when he opened the door, the sight that met his eyes was not at all reassuring. Joanna was standing on the bed, and she was obviously terrified. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her middle, and there was a look of real terror in her eyes.

She was wearing only a man-sized tee shirt that was so thin as to be almost transparent. It barely covered her thighs, due in no small part to the size of her stomach that swelled beneath the cloth. Long legs, bare and disturbingly familiar, caused his stomach to tighten in response.

But Matt definitely didn’t want to think about that right now.

When she saw him, Joanna’s relief was evident. ‘Oh, thank God, you’ve come,’ she exclaimed tremulously, forgetting for a moment that she hadn’t seen him since her arrival.

Then she saw Henry hovering behind him, and half turned away in embarrassment. ‘Um—there’s a rat; under the bed.’ A sob broke from her throat. ‘Can you get rid of it? Please! It—it’s huge!’

‘A rat?’ Matt let go of the door and came towards her, dark and disturbing in a black tee and matching shorts. Immediately the room was filled with his raw masculinity, and Joanna had to grope for a breath of cool night air. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ Joanna managed shakily, and wondered if he knew she was struggling against tears. ‘It was there when I came out of the bathroom. Just—just staring at me with evil little eyes.’

Matt reserved judgement on the evil little eyes but it was obvious something had frightened her badly.

‘So where is it now?’ asked Henry, coming into the room behind him. The older man seemed unconcerned about Joanna’s appearance, and Matt gave him a half-impatient look.

‘She says it’s under the bed,’ he said, going down on one knee to scan the area in question. And then he allowed a rueful smile when he saw what was huddling beneath the wooden frame.

‘What is it? What is it?’ Joanna was shifting from foot to foot, and Matt was half afraid she was going to lose her balance and fall. ‘Can you see it?’ Then, observing his expression, ‘What’s so funny?’

Matt shook his head, sobering, and, getting to his feet again, he turned to Henry. ‘It’s a hutia,’ he told the other man. ‘I’d say the poor thing’s more frightened than she is.’

‘A hutia?’ Joanna had never heard of such a thing. ‘Is—is that a rat?’

‘It’s a rodent, certainly,’ agreed Matt, as Henry bent to view the culprit. ‘But it’s not a rat. They’re usually quite harmless. People actually keep them as pets. God knows how it got in here.’ He turned to Henry again. ‘Who was the last person in the cottage?’

‘I suppose that would be me,’ said Henry unhappily. ‘I came and checked the place out before I went to the airport. I might have left the doors open for a while. It was so hot, and I wanted the breeze to blow through.’

Joanna tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. What a perfect way to start her stay on the island. She’d never screamed like that before. But then, she’d never been so frightened either. Matt probably thought she was a complete idiot.

‘Can—can you get rid of it?’ she asked, trying to behave more calmly now that it seemed that there was no danger.

But she was embarrassed that the older man was there.

Matt looked thoughtful. ‘Well, we can,’ he said, in answer to her question. ‘But the whole place will have to be fumigated before you can stay here.’ He turned once more to Henry. ‘Why don’t you go and get the SUV and we’ll bring Mrs Novak back to the villa?’

Joanna’s lips parted. ‘Your villa?’

‘You can’t stay here tonight,’ he added, aware that his panic on her behalf had given way to a kind of resentment. What chance did he have of keeping his cool when even her scream could tear his nerves to shreds?

He scowled. It was hard to be gentle with her when seeing her like this had aroused all the carnal instincts he’d been trying so hard to deny. For pity’s sake, he’d spent the latter half of the evening trying to drown the knowledge that Joanna was here and he still wanted her. Had he ever stopped wanting her? He didn’t want to know.

Meanwhile, Joanna, hearing the censure in his voice, assumed his attitude towards her hadn’t changed. Bringing her here had been a way to prove his dominance, and after the cottage was habitable again, she’d try and make sure she didn’t need his help again.

With Henry on his way back to the villa, Joanna hesitated only a moment longer and then dropped down onto her knees. But she was aware her heart was still racing and the baby had been unusually quiet for the past half-hour. Shocked into immobility, she thought uneasily. Honestly, whatever that creature was, it had scared both of them half to death.

‘Would you like me to carry you into the bathroom,’ asked Matt, noticing her uncertainty, but to his relief Joanna shook her head.

‘Um—I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she said a little breathlessly. But she needed to put some clothes on before Henry returned. ‘Will—will that—what did you call it? Hutia? —will it try to escape?’

Matt regarded her critically for a moment, and then gave in. ‘It’s probably more frightened of you than you are of it,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘It’s not gonna leap out at you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

Joanna nodded and wriggled until her legs were hanging over the side of the bed. Her tee shirt had hiked up to the tops of her thighs, but that couldn’t be helped. It was a bit late now to be feeling embarrassed, and she was wearing panties, after all.

The cotton trousers she’d travelled in were draped over one of the chairs nearest the door, her slip-ons on the floor beside them. It was only a little distance, she told herself firmly. If the creature hadn’t been disturbed by Matt and Henry kneeling down to peer at it, why should it bother her?

Matt was standing watching her. He had his arms folded, legs apart, his narrow-fitting shorts moulding his powerful thighs. Why did he have to look so damn sexy? she wondered, sliding her bare feet to the floor. It was becoming harder and harder to remember that this was the man who had ruined the last months of her father’s life.

She straightened up, and as she did so something brushed by her ankle. She managed to stifle the scream that rose in her throat, but she couldn’t prevent herself from rushing headlong towards the door.

She certainly hadn’t intended to touch Matt. She just wanted to get away from the bed. But when he put out his hand to stop her reckless flight, she didn’t think before wrapping her arms about his waist and cuddling close to him.

Apart from anything else, her panic had robbed her of any resistance. ‘What—what was that?’ she choked, her face pressed to the muscled hardness of his chest. Her hands spread against his back, accidentally connecting with the wedge of flesh exposed when he’d bent down and his tee had separated from his shorts. Struggling to ignore the smooth dampness of his skin beneath her fingers, she said hurriedly, ‘I felt something touch my ankle. Was it the—the hutia?’

‘Probably,’ said Matt stiffly, aware that it was only the swell of her pregnancy that was keeping her from feeling his instant arousal. Dammit, he had to stay away from her or God knew what he might be tempted to do. With his tone flattening, he responded, ‘It’s gone now, anyway. You can let me go.’

But Joanna didn’t want to let him go. With her lungs filled with the sensual heat of his body, it was difficult to think coherently about anything. She fought valiantly for breath before saying, ‘Where—where do you think it went?’

‘I have no idea.’ Matt sighed, his hands closing on her trembling shoulders. The fabric of the shirt was so thin that he could feel the dampness of her skin through the cloth, but he forced himself to ignore the intimacy of the moment. ‘I imagine it’s found its way out of here.’

She swallowed. ‘You don’t think it could have gone into the bathroom?’

‘I don’t think it was heading in that direction, no.’ Matt stepped back. Then, belatedly, he seemed to remember her condition, his eyes lowering to her stomach, bringing another wave of heat over her body. ‘You’re okay, aren’t you? You didn’t hurt yourself?’ He paused. ‘Or the baby?’

‘I don’t think so.’

She ran an exploring hand over her bump and felt the reassuring thrust of a foot against her palm. She smiled, relieved that the baby was active again, and saw the way Matt’s expression had changed to one of concern.

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like to feel him?’

Matt’s pulse quickened in spite of himself. ‘I—well, sure,’ he said half unwillingly, and she took his hand and laid it against the rounded curve of her stomach.

Almost immediately, he felt a powerful little kick against his hand, and he pulled away with a grunt of protest. ‘Strong, isn’t he?’ Joanna asked, smiling again. ‘How would you like to feel that in the early hours of the morning?’

Matt shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine.’

But he could, actually. It was amazingly easy to anticipate lying beside Joanna and sharing the intimacies of the pregnancy. Comforting her when the baby’s activities kept her awake, holding her in his arms until she and the baby went back to sleep.

Yet that was exactly the opposite of what he should be thinking, he reminded himself irritably. ‘Why don’t you get dressed and put a couple of things in a bag?’ he added shortly, moving towards the door. ‘When Henry gets back, we’ll be leaving.’

‘Okay.’ Joanna cast a nervous glance towards the bathroom. ‘You’re sure it’s gone?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Matt, his patience shredding. ‘Henry probably left the door open when he left and it will have made its escape.’

Joanna’s lips tightened, seeking a defence. ‘I could say it’s your fault for making me come here,’ she retaliated, hating the fact that right now she needed him more than he needed her. ‘I should have stayed in England, with my mother and Lionel.’

‘Let’s not start that again,’ said Matt wearily, glancing about the room and noticing the pair of drawstring trousers on the chair. ‘Here.’ He handed them to her. ‘Do you have a shirt you can wear?’

Joanna took the trousers out of his hands. ‘I expect so,’ she said, stopping briefly to take a silky patterned smock from the open suitcase lying on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She walked swiftly into the bathroom. ‘I won’t be long.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SURPRISINGLY, AFTER ALL the upset, Joanna slept soundly. The baby kicked a couple more times, but even he didn’t disturb her for long. She was exhausted after the journey. Not to mention the stress of the very real fear she’d suffered over last evening’s intruder.

The bedroom Teresa had prepared for her was cool and comfortable, and she’d fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Of course, although she wouldn’t admit it, knowing that Matt was just down the hall made all the difference.

She woke fairly early the next morning. She went into the adjoining bathroom first and took a shower, and then, after finding a bottle of water on her bedside table, she took a welcome drink before opening the door onto her veranda.

As she stepped outside, the heat was the first thing she noticed. She’d wrapped one of the enormous bath towels around her, but the atmosphere soon brought a sheen of dampness to her skin. She wondered if Matt would allow her to go swimming. The idea of silky smooth water washing over her overheated body was very appealing.

She’d swim in the ocean, of course. Attractive though the pool at the villa might be, she’d insisted on her independence.

But, after considering how she’d look in the only swimsuit she’d brought with her, she decided she’d save her dip for another day.

After another drink of the slightly warm water, she went back into her room, appreciating the coolness of conditioned air. She looked about her, admiring the stripped pine floor and silk-hung walls of the bedroom. As well as the large bed, there was a cosy sitting area with two armchairs and a circular table.

And no unwelcome visitors.

A rummage through the few garments she’d brought from the cottage turned up a pair of drawstring shorts. She frowned as she looked at them. Everything had to be elasticated or drawstring these days, she thought resignedly. It seemed such a long time since she’d been able to wear anything remotely attractive—or sexy.

It had certainly been a blow to her ego when Matt had pushed her away from him the night before. For a few moments, when he’d let her wrap her arms around him, she’d actually felt he cared about her. And he’d been so sweet when he’d put his hand on her stomach to feel the baby. But then he’d seemed to come to his senses with a vengeance.

Still, it was probably all to the good, she told herself firmly. Look where one reckless night in Miami had got her.

Matt strode down the path to where his boat was moored with a feeling of frustration. He hadn’t slept well after the uproar over the damn hutia, and, although he’d taken a cold shower, he couldn’t get the remembrance of Joanna’s warm body, pressed against his own, out of his mind.

It was the early hours before exhaustion had claimed him, and in consequence it was now after seven o’clock, much later than he usually took to the water.

Henry was back at the villa, with strict instructions to get the cottage in order so ‘Mrs Novak’ could return to it today.

Even so, after last night’s little fiasco, Matt had to concede that the distance between the two dwellings was much too short.

He’d never forget how he’d felt when he’d heard Joanna scream. At the very least, he’d expected to find some poisonous insect in the cottage, or, failing that, an intruder, intent on God knew what.

A lizard scuttled away as he reached the jetty, and he breathed deeply of the cool salt-laden air. He forced himself to relax. The whole expanse of Cable Bay awaited him. And out on the water, where colours shifted from pale green in the shallows to deep blue on the horizon, he’d be far away from any domestic problem Joanna might create.

A breeze blew across the surface, soft and inviting, and with it came a drift of a familiar perfume. It wasn’t night-scented jasmine, or oleander, or any of the many flowering shrubs that grew in such profusion all over the island. This perfume was sensual; individual. So who the hell had invaded his private beach?

Did he really have to guess?

And then he saw her.

Joanna was wading in the shallows at the edge of the beach beyond the jetty. She’d secured her hair on top of her head this morning, and several errant strands curled against her nape. She was wearing shorts and a loose-fitting shirt that looked suspiciously like one of his. And although her legs were long, judging by the depth of the water around her, he suspected the hems of her shorts were already wet.

She hadn’t seen him yet, but she must have noticed the dinghy, rocking at its mooring. The bow caused a sucking sound as it nudged the wooden jetty, the mast lines chiming on the swell. Matt knew that as soon as he started releasing the cleats and it moved out into the water, she couldn’t fail to hear him. He didn’t want to startle her, as much for his own peace of mind as hers, but what the hell else could he do?

Go back to the villa, he thought irritably. Before she realised he was there. He’d have to give up his morning sail for once. Either that or take the chance that she might think he was following her.

He scowled, preparing to turn away, but just at that moment Joanna looked back over her shoulder and saw him. Immediately, her face flushed with becoming colour, and, abandoning whatever she’d been doing, she waded back to the shore.

She was barefoot, he noticed, as she padded back to the jetty. And although her expression was pleasant enough, she would have passed him with just a brief, ‘Good morning’ if Matt hadn’t stepped into her path.

‘You don’t have to leave on my account,’ he said neutrally, and Joanna’s lips tilted for a moment before straightening again.

‘I’m going back for breakfast,’ she said, matching his casual tone. ‘Teresa wasn’t up when I left the villa. She’s probably wondering where I am.’

‘Haven’t you had anything to drink?’ Matt sounded scandalised. ‘Don’t you know you should never venture out in this heat without bringing a bottle of water with you?’

‘Actually I drank a bottle of water before I left the villa,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I’m not a complete fool. I know what dehydration is.’

Matt was regarding her doubtfully even so, and she had to admit her mouth was dry. She smoothed the shirt she was wearing over her bump with a certain amount of embarrassment. She’d found this shirt in one of the drawers in her room, and guessed it belonged to Matt. She hadn’t expected him to see her wearing it, but, now he had, she doubted he’d wear it again.

He looked so cool and relaxed in narrow-fitting shorts and a purple polo, his muscled forearms deeply tanned from the sun. His hair had been tousled by the breeze, and tumbled over his forehead, the evidence of the shower he’d taken glistening on the rich dark strands.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘as you can see, I borrowed your shirt. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘And if I do, are you going to take it off?’ His words were provocative and he instantly regretted them. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘You can wear anything of mine you like.’

Which was also provocative, but his reaction to her unspoiled beauty was uncontrollable. What on earth had possessed him to bring her here?

‘Well…’ Joanna licked her lips now. ‘I’ll see it’s laundered and returned to you.’

He was sure she would. He was equally sure he’d never be able to wear the shirt again without seeing her in it. Was she wearing a bra? He didn’t think so. He could see the hard nipples pressed against the cloth.

Dear God!

‘Well, I’m sorry if you were worried about me,’ she added politely. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me…’

Matt’s lips tightened. ‘Worried about you?’ he exclaimed, realising suddenly that, as he’d suspected earlier, she had got entirely the wrong impression. ‘I wasn’t looking for you, if that’s what you think.’ He nodded towards the dinghy. ‘I intended to take my boat out, that was all.’

‘Oh.’

Matt expelled a harsh breath. ‘In any case, you should have told someone where you were going.’

‘Why?’ Joanna’s violet eyes widened. ‘Are you saying I can’t do anything here without you knowing about it?’

Matt blinked. ‘Forgive me, but you seemed glad to see me last night,’ he retorted, irritation causing his temper to spike. ‘Or would you have preferred to have got rid of the creature yourself?’

Joanna lifted her arms, the shirt slipping sensuously off one shoulder. ‘That’s different,’ she said defensively, but it was difficult for Matt to focus on her words.

As she’d lifted her arms, Matt had been treated to a glimpse of the dusky hollow visible below the lapels. He didn’t want to notice, but once again he couldn’t help himself. And another part of his body noticed, too.

He was pathetic, he told himself, as his shaft stirred instinctively at the glimpse of her breasts. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen them before. The way they’d looked that night in Miami was all too easy to remember.

Rocking back on the heels of his loafers, he managed a cynical smile. ‘Do I take it you’ll cope with any emergency from now on?’

Joanna wrapped her arms across her midriff and turned to stare out over the water. ‘Can we not do this?’ she asked, suddenly sounding weary. ‘I just don’t like being checked up on, that’s all. I had enough of that when—when—’

‘When Daddy was alive?’ suggested Matt drily.

‘No,’ declared Joanna at once, although her father had wanted to know where she was every minute they’d been together. ‘I don’t know what I was going to say. It’s not important. Like you said, it is very hot, and I’m going back to the villa right now.’

Matt hesitated. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

Joanna cast a brief glance in his direction, her eyes wary. ‘I can manage on my own,’ she said stiffly. ‘Please, take your boat out. If indeed that was what you originally intended.’

She waited half apprehensively for his response, but if Matt was angry at her defiance, he didn’t reply.

A couple of weeks later, Joanna had got used to living on Cable Cay.

The cottage had become her home and she was reasonably happy there. Henry—not Matt—had taken her into town a few days after her arrival to see a Dr Rodrigues, and he’d pronounced that all was well. Indeed, he’d complimented her on her good health, saying that if all pregnancies were like hers, he’d be out of a job.

Despite a certain tension between them, Matt had taken to calling round to see her every couple of days. He’d said it was to assure himself that she had everything she needed, but she couldn’t deny she looked forward to his visits.

In spite of their differences, they had been married for over four years before they’d split up and they knew one another well. Certain words, certain locations, inspired a similar reaction, and, although Matt would never have believed it, they spent a lot of time reminiscing about things that had made them both laugh.

The days when she didn’t see him became dull days indeed.

Although she kept in touch with David Bellamy and her mother via email—and worked on the website when David sent her details of some new exhibition he was putting on—what she enjoyed most was sitting on the veranda, sharing coffee and some of Rowena’s delicious muffins with Matt. Occasionally, he discussed his work, usually some article or other he was researching, and she offered him ideas of other articles he could write.

She doubted he found her appearance particularly appealing. She hated looking in mirrors these days, especially after she’d had a bath. It was so unfair, she thought gloomily, when it was impossible to avoid her naked body. Men got women pregnant, without any of the consequences, and then stood back and let nature take its course.

To her relief, there’d been no sign of her erstwhile mother-in-law. Matt didn’t mention his parents at all, except when she asked about his father. She had thought that Adrienne might arrive to check up on her, but she supposed it was just possible that Matt hadn’t told his mother she was here. Though that was hardly believable, in the circumstances. There was always the chance that they might arrive here unannounced.

Matt had also put a car at her disposal and she’d actually taken a couple of trips into the small town of Cable Cay on her own. The roads were fairly good, and she’d enjoyed the feeling of independence it had given her. Although she had to admit, she’d usually chosen a morning when Matt was unlikely to appear.

Although the town wasn’t very big, it was amazingly well equipped, catering to visitors and locals alike. There were small supermarkets and clothes shops, as well as the inevitable duty-free liquor stores. Joanna had spent a whole morning wandering around the open-air market.

An agency advertising deep-sea fishing and water sports had briefly attracted her attention on her second visit, mostly because the name over the door had read M.O. Novak. Matt had told her about the companies he had invested in, and she couldn’t deny a certain feeling of pride that he’d confided in her.

It was a far cry from the Novak Corporation, which, as Matt had told her, Sophie was running now. He seemed to have settled down to life in the Bahamas, and she had to admit it was a good life in many ways.

Joanna had also made friends with the two women Matt had employed to cook and clean for her. The older of the two, Rowena, lived in Cable Cay. The younger, Callie, was Henry and Teresa’s granddaughter, and she lived in the annexe that adjoined the villa with them.

Joanna hadn’t ventured down to the beach again in the early morning. Now that she knew Matt took his boat out most days, she hadn’t wanted to intrude again. Instead, she’d taken to having a stroll along the sands in the early evening. It was cooler then, and she didn’t mind being on her own.

She occasionally heard the SUV leave the villa after breakfast. Callie had told her that her grandfather did most of the shopping and that it was probably him going into town. Matt had converted one of the bedrooms at the villa into his office and that was where he spent much of the day, if he had articles to write; articles Joanna found herself looking for regularly in the local gazette.

One morning, about three weeks after she’d moved into the cottage, Joanna heard the SUV leave soon after eight o’clock. Which was earlier than usual. If Henry was going shopping, he usually left between nine and ten. Was it possible it was Matt who’d gone into town?

There was no way of finding out without going down to the jetty. If the dinghy wasn’t there, she’d know he was still around. He rarely took his boat out for longer than a couple of hours; not long enough for what she had in mind.

It was already hot, but Joanna was getting used to the climate. She’d acquired a golden tan and she was sure her hair was lighter now than when she’d arrived. As she spent most of her days outside, soaking up the sunshine, it wasn’t surprising. She rarely stayed indoors, even when she was doing her job.

Afternoons were when she used her father’s laptop. Sitting on the veranda, she sometimes marvelled at how easily she’d settled in. There were usually messages from David and her mother, asking how she was feeling. But these days she seldom wished that she were back in England.

Now, hearing the car depart, she decided to take the chance that it was Matt who had gone into town. The fact was, she’d wanted to go swimming ever since she’d arrived on the island, but she hadn’t wanted Matt to see her in her swimsuit. The island attracted slim blondes and brunettes in skimpy bikinis, and Joanna was aware that the comparison couldn’t have been more acute.

But the beach area was private and if Matt was away, she’d feel confident on her own. Well, she could cope with a few fish and maybe a pelican or two. The large birds tended to comb the beach in search of sand crabs or flotsam, but they were harmless enough and kept other predators at bay.

Joanna put on her swimsuit before she left the cottage.

It was navy blue with white piping around the hem of the briefs. It had a tank top to accommodate her swollen belly, and she added a multi-coloured wrap she’d bought when she was in Cable Cay. A canvas bag held water—she’d taken Matt’s advice and never left the cottage without it—sunglasses and a tube of sunscreen. She carried a towel over her shoulder, and managed to slip away without either of the other women seeing her.

The dinghy was still at its mooring, so she dropped the bag and her wrap on the beach near the roots of a palm tree and laid her towel on top. Then, not wasting any time, she walked down the sandy slope and into the water. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either, and she revelled in the feeling of freedom it gave her.

It was so good to wade out of her depth and feel the weight lifted from her. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel dragged down by the tiny human being growing inside. Striking out with a lazy breaststroke, she swam a little distance away from the shore. Then rolled onto her back and let the water carry her on.

It was heavenly. Even the sun didn’t feel so hot out here. Obviously, this was why Matt took his boat out early in the morning. To enjoy a cooler temperature before the heat set in.

Her eyes closed and she drifted on the tide, feeling totally at peace with herself and the world. How long was it since she’d been in the sea? Not since last year at Padsworth. She’d gone to spend a few days with her parents in early summer. And then, on her return, David had offered her the chance to become a partner in the gallery. He had also suggested that unless she and Matt were planning on getting back together, she should seriously think about getting a divorce.

Reminded of the divorce and of where she was now, Joanna opened her eyes. Turning over, she got her bearings, and then gave a little gasp of dismay. While she’d been daydreaming, the tide had carried her quite some distance from the shore. It had evidently been going out when she’d entered the water, and now she was going to have to swim the better part of half a mile back to the beach.

Panic flared in the pit of her stomach. She had never been a particularly strong swimmer. When she was a kid, a couple of lengths of the local swimming baths had been more than enough for her.

Treading water, she took a deep breath, calculating the distance in her mind. She could do this, she told herself. She would have to. She’d told no one where she was going, and if Matt was away, there was no one else to come to her rescue…

Matt was still asleep when he heard someone hammering on his bedroom door.

He’d had a pretty rotten night. He seldom slept well these days, and he’d sometimes wondered if it would have been easier to relax if he’d known Joanna was just down the hall.

It didn’t help that he was expecting visitors tomorrow. He hadn’t told Joanna because he’d known how she would react to the news. In consequence, he’d spent half the night downing a fifth of Jack Daniels, and the other half fighting nightmares, that had left him wide awake and sweating like a pig.

It was an effort to open his eyes when the hammering on his door started. He must have fallen asleep in the early hours and now he was heavy-eyed and not in the best of tempers either.

‘What the hell is going on?’ he demanded, springing out of bed.

Teresa gazed at him unhappily. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Matt, but Mrs Novak has disappeared. When Callie brought her breakfast, she wasn’t in her room, and, although we’ve searched the grounds, we don’t know where she’s gone.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JOANNA SAW MATT emerge from the palms beside the jetty.

He’d seen her, of course he had, she thought, her initial relief giving way to resignation. He was going to think she was the world’s biggest idiot. She should have told someone where she was going and stayed in the shallows. That would have been the sensible thing to do.

Matt’s voice echoed over the water. ‘Do you need any help?’

Joanna sighed. She wanted to say, I can manage, but she knew that wasn’t precisely true. Nevertheless, she shook her head and started swimming back towards the shore. It was only a little distance, she told herself. And, after all, what could Matt do?

She found out a few tiring minutes later when she was still a few yards out from the beach. She’d paused for a moment, trying to regulate her breathing, when she saw Matt tear off his shirt and plunge into the water.

His strong crawl brought him swiftly within range of her exhausted strokes, and she knew when he reached her there were tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, when he wrapped an arm around her waist. ‘I know I’m stupid.’ Then, defensively, ‘But I would have made it on my own.’

Matt made no comment about how unlikely that was or how stupid she’d been and she was grateful. Instead, he slicked back his hair with his free hand, and she found herself thinking rather foolishly how much she liked looking at him, even when her limbs were trembling with exhaustion and she badly wanted to cry.

His dark features seemed to have acquired a dangerous edge since he’d learned about the baby, and right now, although he hadn’t said anything yet, she knew he wasn’t pleased with her.

Which was a shame, because they’d been getting on so well. But the guarded gleam in his eyes warned of possible retribution to come.

Would she really have made it on her own if he hadn’t come to her assistance? That was something she didn’t want to think about right now. The fact was, she owed him, and she doubted he’d let her forget it.

It took an amazingly short space of time before Joanna felt shifting sand beneath her feet. Her toes touched the ground only briefly as Matt gained his feet. Then, turning, he swung her up into his arms. He carried her out of the water and up the beach, only halting when he’d reached the place where she’d left her belongings.

Joanna was suddenly inordinately breathless. But this time it wasn’t because of her swim. It was the muscled strength of the arm beneath her thighs; the bronzed hardness of his chest brushing sensuously against her breasts. The awareness of her own vulnerability in the face of someone so aggressively male.

It made her realise her tank top had ridden up exposing her midriff. Not the most alluring sight, she thought unhappily, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. All she knew was that Matt was staring down at her, the dark penetration of his heavy-lidded eyes making her wonder if he’d just tumbled out of bed.

‘What possessed you to swim so far out on your own?’ he demanded. ‘You always said you weren’t a strong swimmer.’

‘I’m not,’ she said unhappily. ‘Were you in town? Did Henry get in touch with you and tell you what I was doing?’

‘There wouldn’t have been much point in telling me if I’d been in town, would there?’ Matt asked reasonably. ‘Besides, it’s Henry who’s in town. It was Teresa who warned me what was going on. Callie came rushing over to the villa saying you’d disappeared.’

Joanna felt dreadful. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, aware that her voice was still shaky. ‘You can put me down now.’

But, God help her, being this close to him was both a pleasure and a torment. She couldn’t deny it any longer. Whatever he’d done, she still wanted to be with him. Surely it wasn’t just her chaotic hormones causing her to lose all resistance to this man. Regardless of their past mistakes, was she willing to begin again?

Was he?

When he lowered her feet to the sand, and her rounded belly slid the length of his muscular frame, desire got the better of her. Without giving it a second thought, she wound her arms around his neck, and brought her parted lips to his.

Matt stiffened instinctively. He might have suspected that, despite her denials, Joanna had never been indifferent to him. But in spite of the way she’d behaved since she’d been here, he’d assumed she was still planning on going back to England after the baby was born.

And he’d thought he’d accepted it, until today. Teresa had only had to knock on his door and tell him that Joanna had disappeared, for him to tumble out of bed and race madly to find her.

But what did she really want from him? Temporary consolation? And why in God’s name did he care? He had to remember it was she who’d wanted the divorce in the first place. Would things have been different if she’d succeeded in contacting him? If Laura Reichert hadn’t answered the phone when she rang?

He’d moved on, he reminded himself. Or he’d thought he had. He’d made a decent life for himself here. He had to remember that.

Joanna was staring at him now with anxious eyes. With her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in the damp thickness of his hair, this was where she wanted to be. But Matt had dragged his mouth away from hers and his hands had moved to her shoulders, closing almost cruelly over the tender sunburned flesh.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, and the emotion in his voice was raw and painful to his ears. ‘If this is your way of thanking me for saving you, I don’t need it.’

He spoke almost brutally and Joanna’s lips parted in dismay. ‘It wasn’t meant to be a way of thanking you,’ she said tremulously. ‘What do you think I am?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’ retorted Matt, knowing he was being deliberately cruel. But he had to get away from her. It would be far too easy to succumb again.

His life felt as if it had been put on hold ever since he’d found out about the pregnancy. He’d told her he was determined to play a part in his son’s life, and he was. But in all honesty, knowing he still cared about her, getting her to spend the last couple of months of her pregnancy on Cable Cay had definitely not been the most sensible thing to do.

He had to keep his head, he told himself. Joanna was feeling lonely, that was all, and maybe a little hungry for affection, too. Well, he knew that feeling. Yet surely, he had more sense than to think that reckless sex with her would fill the hollow shell he’d become?

Nevertheless, there was something oddly erotic about a woman who was carrying his child. He was responsible for the life that was growing inside her. It was his seed that had changed her perfect life.

‘Okay, so if this isn’t gratitude, what is it?’ he asked harshly.

Joanna’s eyes filled once again with tears. And despite the heat of the sun on her shoulders, inside she suddenly felt as cold as ice. She pulled her hands from his shoulders and took a step back from him. ‘I’m sorry. Obviously, I’ve made another mistake.’

Joanna caught her breath, wrapping her arms about herself in an effort to restore some warmth to her body. She should never have started this, she realised unsteadily, but she’d been fool enough to think he must still care about her.

She would have brushed past him then. Her towel and the wrap she’d worn before her swim were only a few feet away, and she’d feel better with something to warm her. Something to hide, not just her bump, but her humiliation.

Matt caught her arm as she swung past him and brought her round to face him. ‘So what do you want now?’ he demanded, and she trembled in the grip of emotions too long denied.

‘I—I want you, Matt,’ she said, her voice low and defensive, and, with a muffled oath, Matt’s resistance collapsed.

With a groan of defeat, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms and covering her trembling lips with his. It was what he’d wanted to do, God knew, since he’d gathered her up out of the water. He’d been kidding himself that he could control the needs she aroused in him.

Joanna didn’t know how her legs continued to support her. The savage pressure of his mouth on hers had her clutching the waistband of his shorts with both hands. She clung to him helplessly, desperate to redeem herself. Anything to avoid subsiding like a sack of potatoes at his feet.

A reluctant shiver of anticipation made its way down her spine as he continued to kiss her. Her heart beat with a slow, heavy resonance, almost deafening to her ears. The beat thudded against his chest so that she was sure he must be able to feel it. And her skin, which moments before had felt damp and chilled, was now turning her blood to fire.

Matt lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, an unwilling hunger in their depths. Then he bent his head again and took one burgeoning nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled the tender tip, so that it hardened instinctively. The thin fabric of her tank top was no barrier to his searching mouth.

With a low moan, she slipped the straps off her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his possessive gaze. She watched him as he ran his knuckles back and forth across the sensitive peaks, enjoying his quickening breathing, and saw the words of protest die unspoken on his lips.

‘So beautiful,’ he whispered.

She swallowed convulsively before saying weakly, ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘I thought it was what you wanted,’ he responded roughly, and Joanna sucked in a breath.

‘You know it is,’ she said, unable to deny it, and with an oath of submission Matt picked her up and carried her into the shade of the trees.

Her towel made a makeshift couch and he laid her on it.

‘God, should I be doing this?’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know anything about these things. Will I hurt you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ she breathed, gazing eagerly up at him. ‘Believe me, I’m not made of glass.’

Without another word, he dropped his own shorts onto the sand and then stripped the panties of her swimsuit from her. When he was lying naked between her legs, she pulled his face down to hers to trace his lips with her tongue. Time spiralled; she was hardly aware of where she was any more. All she knew for certain was that this was where she’d longed to be.

His kisses grew harder, more passionate, until she was practically mindless with delight. Her hands slid down his chest to take his erection between her palms, her fingers threading through the nest of rough dark hair at his groin. She caressed him and whispered, ‘You used to like me to do this,’ and Matt’s answering groan was muffled against her throat.

Somehow, he dragged her hands away and parted her thighs with an unsteady hand. ‘God, Jo,’ he said. ‘You make me crazy. This is crazy, but I don’t want it to end.’

Her breath hitched with excitement as he bent towards her and then he was burying his face in the moist curls at the junction of her legs. He had barely to touch her, and she climaxed. Then his tongue stroked the tiny nub of her sex and she lost control again.

His fingers parted her, and she arched beneath him. She craved the feel of his hands, the hungry pressure of his mouth. ‘Please,’ she said, clutching his hair and dragging his lips up to hers. ‘I can’t wait any longer. I want you; I want you inside me. Now.’

Her voice was thick with emotion, and with a muffled oath he gave in to her demands. ‘Do you think I don’t want to be inside you?’ he asked, licking his lips, tasting her essence. ‘I’ve thought of little else since you came here.’

Joanna found that incredibly hard to believe. But Matt was leaning over her now, trying not to hurt her or the baby, and she was so wet and ready for him, he couldn’t hold back. With a feeling of total indulgence, he let his erection tentatively ease inside her. And as her muscles stretched to accommodate him, he pushed himself deeply into her slick sheath.

God, it was good. So good. Familiar, yet unfamiliar, and all the better for the months they’d been apart. The velvety feel of her muscles closing around him was incredible. She was tight, so tight, he was sure no other man had touched her. She’d been a virgin the first time he’d made love to her, and he felt as if he were making love to a virgin again.

Joanna wound her arms around him, the scent of her arousal enfolding him in a haze of passion. His mouth sought hers again, delighting in the sensuous battle of their tongues. Her breath was sweet, her words of pleasure erotic. They were like heaven to his ears, and he lost himself in sensual need.

He cupped the rounded curves of her bottom, lifting her to accommodate his throbbing shaft. Pressing forward, he filled her again and again, pleasure uncoiling inside him. She was so tight, so wet, and he wanted to share it with her; to share the satisfying sense of atonement that nothing else could replace.

His release was uncontrollable. As soon as he felt her body clenching around his shaft, he was forced to let go. His last coherent thought was the need to roll onto his side so he didn’t crush her. Before the irresistible pull of exhaustion dragged his tired eyelids closed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MATT REALISED HE must have slept for a few minutes because when he opened his eyes, Joanna was on her feet, her swimsuit restored, bending over him.

She had evidently been shaking him, and when his eyes opened, she murmured softly, ‘Someone’s calling you. You’d better get dressed.’

Matt was inclined to say he didn’t much care, but it was obvious Joanna didn’t want the embarrassment of one of his staff finding him in the nude.

‘Who is it?’ he asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position and reaching for his shorts. ‘Henry?’

‘No, I think it’s Teresa,’ replied Joanna in a low voice. ‘She’s probably wondering where you’ve gone.’

He pulled on his shorts and picked up his discarded polo shirt, which Joanna must have collected from further down the beach. The fabric clung to his still damp body, and Joanna thought it was as sexy in its way as his bare skin.

Her tongue circling her upper lip, she said nervously, ‘Are you all right?’

‘I guess so. Are you?’

It was a simple question, but Joanna didn’t have an answer. Yes, she was okay; yes, she’d loved making love with him; but God knew where they went from here.

‘I think so,’ she said finally, reaching for her wrap and draping it about her shoulders. ‘I suppose I should be getting back to the cottage.’

Matt shrugged, but his face had tightened, and she couldn’t help feeling anxious. Was he already regretting what they’d done? Whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t regret, she acknowledged honestly. But she had never felt more apprehensive in her life.

Before Matt could say anything more, however, Teresa appeared on the jetty. Her dark face was concerned, but when she saw Joanna and Matt together, her lips parted in a wide smile.

‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Novak,’ she exclaimed with evident relief. ‘We were so worried about you, weren’t we, Mr Matt? My granddaughter didn’t know where you’d gone.’

‘I’m sorry—’ began Joanna, but before she could continue, Matt intervened.

‘Mrs Novak decided to take a swim,’ he said, making no mention of his part in bringing her back to shore. ‘Perhaps you’d apologise to Callie. I’m sure my—Joanna—regrets not informing you what she was planning to do.’

Matt wasn’t looking at her and she smiled at the housekeeper instead. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘It was a little foolish.’ It was easier to admit her mistake. ‘But it was such a lovely morning and I haven’t had a swim since I arrived.’

Teresa frowned. ‘You could always use the pool,’ she said, looking at Matt, but he didn’t say anything. ‘Oh, well,’ she continued, purposely cheerful. ‘No harm done.’

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Joanna’s belly, and Joanna assured herself that Teresa couldn’t possibly know what had been going on. She was sure her hair was mussed and there was probably sand coating her thighs. But hopefully the housekeeper would assume she’d been sitting on the beach after her swim and not indulging in hot, sweaty sex.

Now, Teresa glanced back towards the villa, and said, ‘Anyway, I’d better get back to my kitchen. With visitors coming this afternoon—’ She pulled a wry face. ‘There’s still quite a lot to do.’

Offering another polite smile, she hurried away, and Joanna bent to pick up her towel. Shaking it free of sand, she said curiously, ‘Visitors? I didn’t know you were expecting company.’

Matt shrugged. ‘I doubt if you’ll be pleased to hear who it is.’

Joanna waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. She thought she could guess the identity of his visitors after what he’d just said, but it was hard not to feel excluded from his life.

Gathering her belongings, she avoided his eyes as she said, ‘Well, give your parents my best, won’t you? Particularly your father. Tell him he’s welcome to come to the cottage any time.’

‘Okay.’ Matt blew out a breath. ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Will you have time for me, now that you’ve got visitors?’ Joanna asked, aware that she sounded resentful. ‘I doubt if your mother will want to see me again.’

Matt heaved a sigh. ‘My mother coming here has nothing to do with us. What happened, happened, Jo. You know it and I know it. You wanted me, and you’re pretty good at getting your own way.’

Joanna felt sick. ‘Well, at least I know where I stand,’ she said stiffly, bundling the towel about her. ‘I know I don’t look very appealing at the moment, but I could do without you making me feel like a desperate housewife!’

That hadn’t been his intention, and now Matt felt guilty. ‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘But for pity’s sake, Jo, you need to decide what it is you want from me.’

With an effort, Joanna managed to stem the tears that burned behind her eyes. ‘Go and get ready for your guests. I’m sure they’ll be better company than I am.’

‘I doubt it.’ Matt’s tone was gentler now. ‘My mother thought the trip would give my father something to think about besides his health.’

‘Oh—’ Joanna pressed a hand to her throat. ‘But they do know I’m staying here?’

‘They know,’ agreed Matt, picking up her wrap and removing the towel to drape the silk shawl over her shoulders. He was tempted to bend his head and kiss the soft curve of her nape, but he restrained himself. His eyes darkened with some concern. ‘You are okay? I mean with what just happened. I didn’t hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t hurt me,’ she replied, although the ache in her heart told a different tale, but she couldn’t let him see how she really felt.

Matt heaved a breath and glanced back towards the villa. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, particularly after he’d promised himself this wouldn’t happen again. Yet here he was, having just enjoyed the most delightful sex of his life and he was looking for reasons to blame her for his weakness.

Dammit, why did Joanna have to be so sexy? Even in her present condition, he’d never wanted any other woman. Was that why his attraction to her was so addictive? Because his feelings towards her couldn’t be replaced? He had the feeling he wouldn’t like the answer. It had always been that way with her.

‘So,’ he said, trying to defuse the situation. ‘So long as you’re okay, I’d better be getting back.’ He glanced down at his legs, which, like hers, were coated with sand. ‘I need a shower and I’m sure you do, too.’ He paused. ‘If Henry’s home, I’ll get him to drive you back to the cottage. It will save you walking so far in this heat.’

‘I’d prefer to walk,’ declared Joanna at once, even though her legs still felt like jelly. Her lips twisted. ‘Give your mother my regards, won’t you? I’m sure she’ll appreciate the irony.’

‘Jo!’

But she didn’t stop, and Matt decided it wouldn’t be wise to go after her. He needed time—hell, they both needed time—to come to terms with what came next.

When she got back to the cottage, the first thing Joanna did was run herself a bath.

Her legs were covered in sand, yes, and she didn’t like the gritty feeling on her skin. But despite what she’d told Matt, her back was aching, and she felt a warm bath might ease the stiffness in her bones.

Callie knocked on the door as Joanna was drying herself. ‘Would you like an iced tea, Mrs Novak?’ she asked, with a certain amount of diffidence. She was evidently feeling guilty for causing such a panic over Joanna’s disappearance.

Joanna sighed, wrapping the huge bath towel around her and opening the door. ‘That sounds good,’ she said, earning a relieved smile from the young woman waiting outside. ‘Sorry if I worried you earlier. I’ll be out in about ten minutes.’

Deciding it was too warm, even for shorts, Joanna slipped a loose cotton caftan over her head. The ankle-length dress, patterned in shades of green and apricot, was cool and comfortable. She’d bought it at a boutique on one of her trips to town. Typical tourist wear.

She’d washed her hair, too, and she left it loose about her shoulders. She didn’t expect to see anyone, other than the two women who worked at the cottage. She was sure Matt would have his hands full if his parents were coming to stay.

It was a day for relaxing, she decided, as though most days didn’t fall into that category anyway. Maybe it would be a good day to check up on what was happening in the rest of the world.

With that purpose in mind, she carried the worn leather case containing her father’s old laptop out onto the veranda, where Callie had left her a tray of iced tea and a dish of newly baked muffins. She was going to be horribly fat when this was over, she thought ruefully, taking one of the muffins and biting into the rich fruity filling. She doubted David would appreciate his new partner looking like a blimp.

Thinking of David reminded her that after the baby was born, she’d be going back to London. It was no longer an appealing prospect, but after today she was only fooling herself if she thought that Matt was going to change his mind about her. She could feel the baby moving energetically inside her. A particularly sharp kick, just below her ribcage, had her wincing at the unexpected blow. Was Matt’s son exacting the revenge his father was denied?

Finishing her muffin, Joanna drank some of the iced tea and then set her glass aside. Pulling the laptop towards her, she unzipped the case and pulled out the old computer. She didn’t know why she bothered putting it in its case really. It was hardly in pristine condition.

The last time she’d used it, she’d scanned some of her father’s old emails. She’d hoped she might find something about the accident and what his reaction had been. But Angus had evidently kept his business correspondence in an encrypted folder, and she didn’t have the password, or there was nothing about the case to find.

The only anomaly, which she’d just read the evening before, was an email from a betting website. It was a demand for money, informing her father that he was several hundred pounds in the red. Obviously, whoever had sent the email didn’t know Angus had died, and, knowing what her father had always thought about gambling, she ignored it. She had intended to mention it to Matt the next time she saw him. But after this morning’s episode, that might be some distance in the future.

She pulled the computer out of its case, as usual, but this time a worn scrap of paper fell to the floor. Bending to pick it up, she saw it was a letter. And judging by its shabby appearance, it was probably older than the computer itself.

Frowning, she unfolded the page, wondering how long it had been there. It must have been lodged in one of the compartments, and because there were so many tears in the paper it was written on, it hadn’t dropped out straight away. Back in London, she used the computer at the gallery to do her work, and it was only since she’d been here that it had been of any use.

The letter she’d rescued was dated June 1980, and Joanna whistled through her teeth. Goodness—that was almost forty years ago. Why on earth would her father keep a letter that long? Surely it must have been written while he was still at university?

Was the letter from her mother? It started Darling Angus and that was a very intimate form of address. Turning the page, Joanna looked for her mother’s signature. But instead it read Much love, Adrienne.

Adrienne!

The address was Girton College, Cambridge. Girton! Her mother had attended one of the London universities. Had her father been involved with this woman before he and Glenys had got together? Had her mother known about this other woman in her father’s life?

Joanna frowned, turning back to the front of the letter and reading the address again. Whoever had written it had been a student at Girton College. Her father had been at Trinity College, Cambridge, but that was all she knew.

She felt a little guilty, reading a letter that had so obviously been addressed to her father. But, as with the emails, it couldn’t hurt him now. Besides, she was only human. And she was curious.

Reading on, she frowned in concentration.

Darling Angus,

It isn’t easy for me to write this letter, my dear, but I’m afraid I can’t see you again. We’ve had some wonderful times together, and I’m going to miss you, terribly. But you must have realised, as I did, that it couldn’t go on for ever, I’m going back to the States to marry Oliver—

Joanna broke off, her jaw dropping. Oliver! Was this letter from Adrienne Novak? she wondered incredulously. Although of course, Adrienne’s surname hadn’t been Novak in those days.

She read on.

It will make all the difference to my family. He’s promised to help Daddy financially, and you know I could never live on a shoestring, my dear. I’m returning to New York at the end of the week. But before I left I wanted to wish you every happiness for the future. I’m sure you and Glenys—

Joanna’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t help it. It was one thing to speculate if her father had had an affair and quite another to have it confirmed.

—will get married as you originally intended. I don’t think either of us took our relationship seriously. I know I didn’t. We’re two different people, Angus. It’s been fun while it lasted, but like all good things it must sadly come to an end.

Much love…

Joanna was stunned. The tone of the letter really irritated her. She wondered if her father and mother had been engaged at the time. If they had, this was such a betrayal. She doubted her mother knew anything about it, and it certainly showed Angus’s outrage at his wife’s departure for the hypocrisy it had been.

She wondered why her father had kept the letter for so many years. Had he had some intention of using it for his own ends? Why else would he have kept it, unless he’d had some ulterior motive for doing so? Which undoubtedly cast a shadow over other things he’d done.

Was that why Adrienne had always hated her? Had she been afraid that Angus might tell Oliver about their affair? It must have been a bitter irony that her son should have fallen in love with Angus’s daughter. No wonder she’d tried her best to keep them apart.

Did it also explain why her father had been so willing to merge his company with NovCo? And why, initially, he hadn’t opposed her marriage to Matt? The accident had brought things to a head, of course, and he’d involved her in it. But could the accusations Angus had made against Matt and his father now be seen in a different light?

CHAPTER TWENTY

JOANNA WAS IN the kitchen, talking to Rowena, when Callie came to tell her she had a visitor. ‘It’s Mr Novak,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘My grandfather brought him over.’

Mr Novak? For a moment Joanna couldn’t think what she meant. And then she realised: it must be Matt’s father. Dared she hope his wife hadn’t come with him?

Although the Novaks had arrived a couple of days ago, Joanna hadn’t seen them. She’d heard from Callie that Mr Matt’s father spent most of his days in a wheelchair, but she’d also said he was cheerful enough, and obviously pleased to be here.

With a hasty examination of her appearance, Joanna followed the girl into the parlour. But both Oliver Novak and Henry Powell were waiting for her on the veranda; Oliver in his electric wheelchair and Henry standing proudly beside him.

‘Here she is,’ said Oliver at once, only the faint slur in his speech revealing the lingering effects of his stroke. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, Jo. Come and give an old man a kiss.’

Joanna smiled and went to hug Matt’s father warmly. ‘It’s great to see you, too,’ she said, regarding him with real affection. ‘It must be nearly two years since we last met.’

‘At least,’ agreed Oliver, glancing up at the man at his side. Then he said, ‘You go and visit with your granddaughter, Henry. I’ll let you know when I want to leave.’

‘Yes, sir, Mr Novak.’

Callie had already gone back to her duties, and as Henry was about to follow her Joanna said, ‘Perhaps you’d ask Rowena to bring us some iced tea? I’m sure Mr Novak is ready for a drink.’

‘A beer would be better,’ muttered Oliver, but both Joanna and Henry pretended not to hear him. It was too early in the day to start drinking alcohol.

After Henry had gone, Joanna seated herself on one of the chairs beside the bamboo table where she often did her work.

Then, with another smile for her visitor, she said, ‘How are you? I know Matt’s been worried about you.’

‘Has he?’ Oliver didn’t sound as if he believed that, but he leant across to pat Joanna’s arm with his right hand. ‘More to the point, how are you? I couldn’t believe my ears when Matt told me you were having a baby.’

Joanna felt a deepening of colour in her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t believe it either. Not at first,’ she admitted honestly. ‘After all those false alarms.’

‘But you’re pleased about it?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m delighted.’

‘Even though Matt’s the father?’

Especially because Matt’s the father, thought Joanna ruefully, but she kept that to herself.

‘We’re working things out,’ she said instead, and Oliver regarded her with thoughtful eyes.

‘I was sorry to hear about your father,’ he said suddenly. ‘Even though he was no friend of mine, I wouldn’t have wished him ill.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But I have to say, he caused a lot of unhappiness for you and Matt, and I’m hoping that this baby will go some way to healing the wounds between you.’

Joanna sighed. ‘Oh, Oliver—’

She would have said more, but Rowena arrived at that moment with a jug of iced tea.

In all honesty, Joanna was glad of the diversion. She had the feeling that Matt’s father hadn’t just come here to say hello. Pouring the iced tea gave her time to absorb what he was saying, but she was still not prepared for what was to come.

Setting his tea aside, Oliver regarded her intently. ‘I know you and Matt are not back together,’ he said quietly, ‘but I’m here to tell you that your father was not the innocent he claimed to be.’ He sighed. ‘There were things Matt didn’t tell you. Things he was fool enough to keep to himself. And then, when he did try to explain the situation, you wouldn’t listen to him.’

Joanna shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘Oliver—’

‘No, listen to me.’ It was obvious he felt strongly about what he was saying, but she was a little alarmed to see the colour that had entered his cheeks as he spoke. ‘Your father resented me from the moment I married Matt’s mother. He and Adrienne were sweethearts, you know? While she was at college in England.’

Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘You know about that?’

‘Ah.’ Oliver nodded. ‘I’m surprised he told you. In any case, it doesn’t matter,’ he went on firmly. ‘He should have known that my father was every bit as astute as I believe I am, and there was nothing Adrienne did before our marriage that John Novak didn’t know about.’

‘I don’t see what that has to do—’

‘It has everything to do with his attitude towards Matt. Joanna, Angus knew his firm was in difficulties before you married my son, and to begin with it was enough for him to have Matt bail him out.’

‘He was very grateful.’

‘Was he?’ Oliver’s tone was ironic now. ‘Well, I have to tell you, Jo, that gratitude didn’t last very long.’

‘If you’re talking about the accident—’

‘Of course, I’m talking about the accident.’ Oliver reached for his glass and managed to take a mouthful of tea.

‘It was unfortunate that Angus had been diagnosed with terminal cancer at the time, but that was no reason for him to tell lies about my son.’

Joanna shifted awkwardly. ‘If they were lies,’ she murmured unhappily, not wanting to start an argument. The baby was restless and talking about her father again was setting her nerves on edge.

But Oliver had evidently decided to speak his mind.

‘Matt did everything he could to save Carlyle’s reputation,’ he said tersely. ‘But the markings on the steel they’d used to build the platform spoke for themselves.’

Joanna bent her head. ‘I suppose you would say that. Matt’s your son.’

‘Matt is an honest man, which is more than I can say for Angus Carlyle.’ Joanna noticed Oliver was breathing quickly now, and she tried to change the subject by offering him more tea.

But Oliver wasn’t finished. ‘You didn’t know about his gambling, did you, Jo?’ He was evidently finding it difficult to speak now. ‘My God, that man had a lot to answer for.’

Matt wasn’t in the best of moods.

His mother and father had arrived a couple of days ago. And, although he’d been delighted to see that his father had made considerable progress with his mobility, his mother’s attitude was beginning to get on his nerves.

She lost no opportunity to deplore Matt’s decision to bring his ex-wife to the island, which was another reason for his sour disposition. Thankfully, his father didn’t share her opinion, and this morning he’d had Henry take him to the cottage to see Joanna herself.

Matt had to wonder what his father would say to her.

When Oliver had heard that Joanna’s father was blaming NovCo for the accident in the Alaskan oil field, he’d been furious. They all knew—including Angus—that the equipment they’d been using had been built in the Carlyle yard. But by the time Matt had got back from New York, Joanna had heard her father’s version of the story. His claim, that NovCo was using his name to protect their own interests, had apparently seemed believable to her.

It had all been lies, of course. Matt had been stunned by Angus’s betrayal. He’d spent those last weeks in New York trying to protect the old man’s reputation. Angus had been dying, and the last thing Matt had wanted on his obituary was the revelation that he’d been cheating his own company.

Of course, Joanna hadn’t believed him. Angus had never lied, she’d said, and she had no reason to think he was lying now. But the bitterest thing of all was when Angus had told Joanna that Matt had been keeping secrets from her, daring Matt to reveal Angus’s addiction to his wife.

And, of course, he hadn’t. What could he have said? Matt wondered now. Angus had wagered that Matt wouldn’t chance deepening the rift between them by revealing her father’s weaknesses, and when Joanna had demanded to know what her father was talking about, he’d had to deny any knowledge of it.

Angus had been a gambler to the last.

Matt scowled. It was all right to think that Joanna should have had more faith in him, but it was easy to be wise after the event. He feared he was wasting his time, hoping she would stay with him, despite what she’d said. If she hadn’t believed him before, why should she believe him now?

He was in his office at present, trying desperately to complete an article, and when his mother burst into the room, he didn’t know how he kept his temper.

‘What?’ he asked flatly. ‘Ma, if this is—’

‘You’d better come,’ she interrupted him. ‘Powell says that your father’s not feeling well. I believe he’s had an argument with Joanna and he’s resting in one of the bedrooms at the cottage.’

Adrienne sniffed. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said coldly, as Matt pushed past her onto the veranda. ‘That woman has been nothing but trouble ever since you met her.’

In the event, Matt found his father sleeping, and, judging from his appearance, he had probably just over-tired himself. Joanna was hovering over him, looking anxious, but Oliver looked well enough.

‘It was my fault,’ she said unhappily. ‘He was talking about my father.’ She licked her lips and looked up at her ex-husband. ‘He—he told me Daddy was a gambler. Is that true?’

‘Of course, it’s true,’ said Adrienne disparagingly, who had come into the room behind her son, but Matt hustled her and Joanna out of the bedroom so that they didn’t disturb his father.

‘Not now,’ he said, dark eyes boring warningly into his mother’s. He might regret this chance to redeem himself, but right now he was more concerned about Joanna. ‘I’ve sent for Dr Rodrigues. He should be here soon.’

The doctor arrived soon after, by which point Matt had ensured that Joanna had had a drink and was comfortably installed in a chair on the veranda. He’d sent his mother back to the villa with Henry and couldn’t help a sigh of relief when she’d gone.

He spoke to Dr Rodrigues privately, before the other man could get out of his car. Matt was actually more concerned about Joanna. He’d noticed how agitated she’d become.

The doctor looked in on Oliver first and, according to him, Matt’s father was probably only exhausted, as Matt had thought. When Joanna had had her blood pressure taken, however, the medic looked anxious. He was of the opinion that she should rest completely for the next twenty-four hours.

Joanna stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Rest completely? Are you saying I should stay in bed?’

‘That would be best,’ said Rodrigues, looking a little rueful. ‘You were so well when I saw you a few weeks ago. What have you been doing to raise your blood pressure? This isn’t the time to be indulging in marathons, you know?’

‘I haven’t.’ Joanna glanced guiltily at Matt. ‘I walk every day, but that’s all.’

Matt’s lips tightened. ‘Is she ill?’

‘No.’ The doctor shook his head. ‘But her blood pressure is higher than it ought to be at this stage of her pregnancy. We don’t want to have to consider a condition called pre-eclampsia.’

Matt shook his head, his stomach muscles tightening apprehensively. ‘I gather from your expression that it isn’t a good condition.’

‘No, it can be serious, but I’m not suggesting Mrs Novak is in danger. But she needs to rest and avoid any undue stimulation.’

Matt swallowed a little convulsively. ‘But she will be okay?’

‘She and the baby,’ agreed Dr Rodrigues reassuringly. ‘My wife is a midwife, as you possibly know. I’d like her to examine Mrs Novak, and perhaps she could stay here at Long Point for the next couple of days?’

‘With pleasure,’ said Matt eagerly. ‘I suggest moving Joanna to the villa. We have more room there and I can keep an eye on her myself.’

Joanna caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Is that necessary?’ The last thing she wanted was to have to spend time with Adrienne.

‘I think it is necessary,’ declared Rodrigues. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Novak. I have the suspicion that this baby won’t be long in being born.’

‘But I still have three weeks to go!’ she protested.

‘Dates can be wrong,’ said Rodrigues solemnly. ‘So, if that’s all right with you, Mr Novak?’

‘Of course.’ Matt nodded, and, ignoring Joanna’s silent protest, he took her hand. ‘Relax, Jo. You can leave it with me.’

Joanna was installed in the bedroom she’d occupied on her first night at Long Point, after she’d been frightened by the hutia in the cottage. Matt knew she hadn’t wanted to come here, particularly as his mother was still in residence, and, after her conversation with Oliver Novak, she would rather have avoided him, too.

The trouble was, she couldn’t forget the things he’d told her. Somehow, hearing Matt’s father tell her that Angus Carlyle had been a gambler rang true. Oliver had no axe to grind; particularly not now. The court case was over and the compensation had been paid long ago.

All right, perhaps he was just defending his son. But, after reading that email on her father’s laptop, Joanna couldn’t help thinking that it all made sense.

Her father had never mentioned his previous relationship with Adrienne either. If she hadn’t found that letter, she would never have suspected they’d had an affair. But it was a relief to know that Oliver knew about it. That was one secret she didn’t have to keep.

Looking back now, she guessed that when she’d turned up in Miami, Matt must have thought she’d come to realise there were two sides to every argument. Instead of which, she’d still believed what her father had told her, instead of taking the word of the man she loved.

The man she loved!

Joanna caught her breath. Was that true? Had she ever stopped loving Matt? If only he would give her another chance, she thought despairingly. Dared she tell him she wished she’d never got the divorce?

Matt came to see her after supper. To her relief, no one else appeared. Except Elsa Rodrigues, the doctor’s wife who was a midwife, and who had examined her thoroughly before pronouncing that she agreed with her husband: Joanna might have the baby a little earlier than she’d expected.

For his part, Matt thought he’d never seen Joanna look lovelier, the bloom of her pregnancy adding a becoming softness to her face. During the last week, every time he’d visited the cottage, he’d fought the desire to ask her what she really wanted from him. What he wanted from her was getting easier to explain.

He knew his mother would think he was crazy if he admitted he wanted Joanna back. But could he really believe that the rapport they’d found in recent weeks was just because of the baby?

Seating himself on the side of the bed, he regarded her closely. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. ‘I noticed you didn’t eat much for your supper.’

‘I wasn’t hungry,’ Joanna admitted, allowing him to take her hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve created a problem. I had no idea the doctor would send me to bed.’

‘It’s no problem,’ said Matt gently. ‘And my father and mother are going home tomorrow anyway. I’m just sorry if my father said anything to upset you. I should have suspected he had an ulterior motive when he asked Henry to take him to see you.’

‘Well, I’m glad he came,’ said Joanna staunchly. ‘I had no idea—’

She broke off abruptly, pressing a hand to her stomach. A pain had just knifed through her abdomen, and although she’d had some backache since Matt had ferried her to the cottage in the SUV, this was something else.

‘What’s wrong?’

Matt was immediately aware of her discomfort. His eyes had darkened in alarm, and she was desperate to reassure him.

This was definitely not the time to give him a master class in Braxton Hicks.

‘It was nothing,’ she denied, arching her back a little to relieve the constriction. ‘I’m always having little aches and pains. It’s just that you’re not usually around when they occur.’

‘I’d like to be,’ muttered Matt, his voice raw with emotion. ‘I know you might not agree, but I wish you’d stay here until the baby is born.’

‘I’d like that—’ Joanna was beginning, when another pain attacked her abdomen. She struggled to breathe the way she’d been told, and then whispered faintly, ‘I think that might be sooner than we think.’

Matt didn’t hesitate. Opening the bedroom door, he yelled for Rowena to fetch Mrs Rodrigues from her room, and then pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘I hope to hell Jacob isn’t taking the evening off. If he is, I’ll fly the bloody helicopter myself.’

‘I don’t think we have time to summon the helicopter,’ declared Elsa Rodrigues, coming into the room before he could make the call. ‘I have a feeling this baby is likely to arrive within the next couple of hours. If you have no objections, Matt, I think we should make preparations for the birth right here.’

Matt looked down at Joanna. ‘Jo,’ he said thickly, feeling guilty. ‘I never meant for this to happen.’

‘Nor me,’ murmured Joanna faintly, and then broke off when another spasm gripped her. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. ‘But stay with me, Matt? Please. Stay with me and hold my hand?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MATT WAS SITTING on the veranda when Dr Rodrigues came to find him. He’d been trying to doze, but the events of the past ten hours had left him too full of adrenalin to rest. Now, sunlight was sparkling on the leaves of the palm trees and gilding the edge of the water with a pale translucent light.

‘Joanna is awake,’ the doctor said softly. His wife had sent for him as soon as she was confident that the baby’s head had been engaged. Then with more assurance, he added, ‘Your mother is with her.’

‘My mother!’

Matt groaned, getting to his feet at once. What the hell was Adrienne doing there? He guessed she would be the last person Joanna wanted to see. His ex-wife had been exhausted when he’d left her four hours ago, and Matt had been grateful that Elsa had taken the baby away so that Joanna could sleep.

For his part, Matt was still digesting the news that he was a father. The baby’s birth had happened so quickly. He’d always thought that first babies could take days and not hours to arrive, but he’d been wrong.

Joanna had been lucky. Her labour had been fairly arduous without any pain relief, but when they’d both gazed in wonder at the tiny baby boy who had come so precipitately into the world, everything else was forgotten.

Despite weighing more than eight pounds, he’d seemed so absurdly fragile. And for a few minutes, sitting beside Joanna on the bed, Matt had felt they were a real family at last.

Then Elsa had insisted on ushering him out of the room to allow Joanna to rest. He’d promised to return as soon as she was awake, but now it seemed his mother had beaten him to it. He couldn’t help the suspicion that her visit was not a friendly one.

Walking across the marble-tiled foyer, Matt was shocked to hear raised voices coming from the bedroom where Joanna was resting. The loudest was his mother’s, if he didn’t miss his guess. Joanna’s contribution much less aggressive. What the hell was going on?

Reaching the door, Matt was about to burst into the room, when he was halted by Adrienne’s next words.

‘It’s not your call,’ Adrienne was saying angrily. ‘Nothing you do is going to change Matt’s mind.’

Joanna’s response was spoken in a much quieter tone. ‘I just think this is Matt’s and my decision, not yours.’

‘We’ll see about that—’ Adrienne was beginning threateningly, but Matt had heard enough.

Thrusting open the door, he halted on the threshold, the scene that met his eyes filling him with a mixture of pleasure and dread. There was no sign of Elsa, but she had evidently brought the baby because Joanna was holding him close to her chest. Adrienne, meanwhile, was leaning over her, as if she was about to snatch the baby out of her arms.

‘In God’s name, what’s going on here?’ Matt demanded, glaring at his mother. The atmosphere in the room was decidedly hostile and he couldn’t understand why. ‘Don’t you think Joanna’s had enough to cope with in the last twelve hours without you causing a scene?’

Adrienne immediately stepped back from the bed. With a forced smile, she said, ‘Oh, Matt, I didn’t see you there.’ She paused to lick her lips. ‘And you couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t want to cause a scene.’ She gave the girl a tight-lipped glance. ‘Joanna simply won’t listen to reason.’

Joanna said nothing. She knew better than to try and argue with Matt’s mother in this mood. Instead, she looked down at her baby son and wondered why she’d ever thought that Adrienne had come here to heal their differences.

Matt turned to Joanna, and when she still didn’t try to defend herself, he looked again at his mother. ‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ he said, ‘but now is not the time to be upsetting anyone.’

‘I didn’t come here to upset her,’ retorted Adrienne, taking a step away from the bed. ‘But if you do intend to play some part in your son’s life, Matt, you have to make a stand.’

Matt scowled. ‘And this affects you how, exactly?’

‘Well, I am the child’s grandmother,’ declared his mother shortly. ‘If you allow Joanna to take your son back to England, you may never see him again.’

Matt sucked in a frustrated breath. ‘The child’s less than five hours old, Ma. We’ve got plenty of time to think about his future.’

Adrienne’s lips tightened. ‘Now you’re being ridiculously naïve, Matt. I’m not suggesting you ask for custody of the infant straight away. All I’m saying is—’

‘Dammit, you were casting doubts on the child’s parentage a couple days ago,’ Matt reminded her harshly. ‘I suggest you go back to Dad, Mother. I’ll let you know what’s happening when Joanna and I have had time to talk.’

Joanna sighed, shifting the baby to a more comfortable position. Although she’d had a short nap, she was still absurdly tired. And weepy, too. Hearing Matt and his mother talk about her son as if she weren’t even present made her feel invisible.

But one thing was certain: No one was going to take him away from her.

‘Anyway, we’ll talk later,’ Matt was saying now, and Joanna saw the way Adrienne cast an angry look in her direction.

Does she think I might tell Matt about her affair with my father? Joanna wondered incredulously. Just because Oliver was aware of her affair, didn’t mean he’d told her.

Joanna almost felt sorry for her. For all her bluster, Adrienne was as vulnerable as anybody else. But she seemed determined that Matt should have custody of the baby, and Joanna knew the Novaks had the money to employ lawyers to override any argument she might make.

Now Adrienne headed with evident reluctance for the door. ‘You’ll let me know what you decide, won’t you, darling?’ she said, with another hostile look in Joanna’s direction. ‘Your father and I just want to do what’s best for you, you know?’

As she was about to depart, Elsa appeared. ‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ she began. ‘Is everything all right here? The baby—’

‘The baby’s fine,’ said Matt, approaching the bed. ‘Will you let Elsa take him for a while, Jo? I’m worried about you. You look exhausted.’

Joanna gazed across at Elsa with tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t let Matt’s mother take my baby away, will you?’ she begged. ‘He’s all I’ve got.’

‘You’ve got me,’ exclaimed Matt, uncaring what his mother thought now. He sat down on the side of the bed and cupped Joanna’s face between his hands. ‘And nobody’s going to do anything without your say-so.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps you should let Elsa take him for a while.’

‘I can look after him,’ said Adrienne at once, but Matt gave her a warning look.

‘Not now,’ he said forcefully. ‘I think you’ve done enough.’

‘I was only thinking of you, Matt,’ she protested, but Matt ignored her.

‘Just go,’ he said. ‘You’ve got packing to do.’

‘Matt!’

Her voice was loud with protest and Dr Rodrigues, who had appeared behind his wife, came into the room.

‘I can hear your voices in the study, Mr Novak. I told you, Joanna needs to rest.’

Matt sighed. ‘I know. And I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, well, whatever it is you need to say to one another, surely it can wait until Joanna is stronger?’

Now Matt took charge. ‘You were just leaving, weren’t you, Ma?’ he said, looking at his mother, and Adrienne was not prepared to say any more in front of the doctor and his wife.

To Joanna’s relief, Matt saw them all out of the door and closed it. Then he turned back to the bed. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said huskily, resuming his seat beside her. He stroked her cheek with gentle fingers. ‘I’m sorry for a lot of things. I never meant for you to discover the truth about your dad. And the timing couldn’t have been worse!’

Joanna lifted a hand to cover his, looking up at him with anxious eyes. ‘But it is true, isn’t it? He had a gambling addiction, didn’t he?’ she whispered. ‘It explains so much.’

‘Yeah, well, the old man made me promise not to tell you.’ Suddenly Matt didn’t want to talk about it anymore. ‘Do you believe me now, Jo?’

Joanna sniffed. ‘Matt, ever since I came to the island, I’ve found myself wanting to put the past behind me. You must know that. I haven’t exactly pushed you away.’

‘I hoped that was so. But I was afraid I was getting the wrong message,’ said Matt huskily. ‘When something means so much to you, you tend not to believe it.’

Joanna squeezed his hand. ‘I’ve been such a fool. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘We’ve both been fools.’ Matt groaned. ‘Why the hell do you think I wanted you here? I wanted to take care of you. I wanted us to be together. I—hoped you might want to stay.’

Joanna met his eyes. ‘I do want to stay,’ she said eagerly. ‘I never thought I’d say that when you insisted on me coming here, but I do.’

Matt shook his head. ‘When I left your apartment in London, I was convinced that was the end of us.’

Joanna nodded. ‘So was I.’

He grimaced. ‘That’s not to say I wouldn’t have tried again. You know I love you. I never stopped loving you, no matter what garbage came out of my mouth at the time.’

‘Do you mean that?’ Joanna caught her breath, looking up at him through tear-drenched lashes. ‘You love me?’

‘Of course, I love you,’ he muttered thickly, raising her hand to his lips. His tongue brushed her knuckles with the utmost tenderness. ‘I want us to be married again. I never want to let you go.’

‘Oh, Matt, I love you, too.’ There was so much more she wanted to say to him, but it could wait. ‘I was so stupid to let anyone come between us.’

‘Hey, he was your father,’ said Matt gently. ‘I just kept on hoping that sooner or later the truth would come out.’

‘Will you forgive me for doubting you? If I promise to spend the rest of my life making amends?’

‘I may keep you to that,’ said Matt, looping one hand at her nape and pulling her towards him. Then, after kissing her until she was breathless, he added, ‘I just wanted to hear you say you love me. That’s all I ever wanted. And to be with you and our son.’

‘I’m so glad you were there at his birth. When he’s older, you’ll be able to tell him so.’

‘We’ll be able to tell him so,’ Matt amended with some satisfaction, before kissing his wife again.

EPILOGUE

A WEEK LATER Joanna wheeled the baby down the path to the jetty.

Matt had gone out in his dinghy earlier that morning for the first time since the baby was born. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but Joanna had insisted she could manage on her own. Well, with Callie’s help, she appended. Teresa and Henry’s granddaughter had proved her weight in gold since the baby’s birth.

Adrienne and Oliver had gone home the day after the baby’s birth, and Oliver seemed satisfied that he had played some part in Joanna’s and Matt’s reunion.

For her part, Joanna knew that she and Adrienne would never be friends. But Matt’s mother had apparently accepted that, as they were getting married again, there was no point in depriving herself of her grandson by trying to keep them apart.

Jealousy was a terrible thing, and Joanna guessed Adrienne would have been jealous of any woman who took her son away from her. Discovering Joanna was Angus Carlyle’s daughter must have been doubly distressing. Particularly when her husband had announced he was going into business with her old lover. She must have lived in fear of their previous relationship being made public.

Joanna wondered now if Angus had sought to destroy her and Matt’s marriage to hurt Adrienne. As with so much else, his actions were hard to forgive.

To be charitable, Joanna knew her father’s illness had changed him. Learning he was suffering from terminal cancer had made him brooding and resentful of other people’s happiness. Even her own.

But that was in the past. Matt and Joanna were planning to get married again as soon as they could. And then, later, they’d agreed to return to Miami for the baby’s christening.

Joanna had destroyed Adrienne’s letter. That was one piece of poison that would never again see the light of day. She and Matt were together and that was all that mattered. She really hoped that her father had forgotten the letter was there.

She could feel the sun’s rays on her shoulders as she emerged from the shadow of the palms, but she didn’t mind. It was so good to be out and about again, so good to be able to wear an outfit that didn’t outline the swollen curve of her stomach.

Their son lay on his back in the stroller, protected by the shade cast by its hood. Matt had had the baby carriage flown over from Nassau the same day the baby was born. Along with baby clothes and equipment of every kind.

It was a thrilling time for Joanna. And Matt, too, she knew. Their son was a constant delight to both of them but, more importantly, they were rediscovering every aspect of their love for one another.

Joanna heard Henry’s voice and a moment later she saw her husband vaulting onto the jetty. He hadn’t been out very long, she thought humorously. Evidently, since he’d become a father, sailing had lost much of its appeal.

Matt saw Joanna at once, and, leaving Henry to moor the craft, he came striding towards her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said huskily, slipping his arm about her shoulders, uncaring who was watching them. He bent his head and covered her lips with his. Then, with some concern, ‘Should you be out in this heat?’

‘Well, if I’m going to live here, I’ve got to get used to it,’ replied Joanna, slipping her arm about his waist. ‘We are going to live here, aren’t we?’

‘I like the way you say “we”,’ murmured Matt, his eyes devouring her. ‘How did I ever live without you?’

Matt bent to bury his face in the curve of her shoulder and Joanna cupped his neck with gentle fingers. ‘I should have believed you all along.’

Matt lifted his head. ‘Yeah, you should,’ he agreed roughly. ‘I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.’

Joanna gnawed on her lower lip. ‘Will you believe me if I tell you that soon after I got here, I was prepared to put all that behind us and ask you if I could stay?’

‘Because of the baby?’

‘No, because of us,’ exclaimed Joanna huskily. ‘I didn’t want you to think I had any ulterior motive for being here, but perhaps I had.’

Matt stared at her. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Of course, I mean it.’ She paused. ‘But after—after that—that time on the beach, you seemed so—remote.’

‘I wanted to see you; of course, I did.’ Matt groaned. ‘But it was hard to know what I was going to say. Then my parents being there meant we couldn’t have a private conversation.’ He paused. ‘But surely it was obvious how I felt? I couldn’t keep my hands off you.’

There was another satisfying moment, and then Henry’s hearty voice broke into their embrace. ‘Would you like me to take your son back to the villa?’ he asked, peering into the stroller and making goo-goo noises at the baby.

Matt grinned at Joanna. ‘I didn’t know you were a nursemaid, Henry,’ he said, and the older man lifted his head to pull a face.

‘I thought you might like a little privacy, that’s all,’ he said innocently. ‘Particularly with Mrs Sophie coming this afternoon.’

‘God, I’d forgotten that. She’s dying to see her nephew, I know.’ Then Matt looked at Joanna. ‘So, what do you think? Have you got time to take a walk along the beach with me?’

‘A walk?’ she echoed, handing the stroller into Henry’s capable hands. ‘Why, Mr Novak, I do believe I have. Do you mind if I take your arm?’

‘I’m hoping you’ll take every part of me,’ murmured Matt in an undertone, and Joanna was still giggling when Henry disappeared from view.

An Heir to Make a Marriage

Abby Green

I’d like to dedicate this book to the memory of

Jimmy Devlin who was known affectionately

throughout the Irish film business as ‘Jimmy

The Bus’. That was his job, driving a minibus to

and from different locations, carrying everyone

from cast to crew. He made everyone feel like a

VIP, even if it was your first job. He was a true

gentleman who oozed an old world charm and

respect for everyone around him, especially

women. Men like Jimmy Devlin make it easy to

write about larger than life heroes, because he

epitomised what a hero was.

Ar dheis dé go raibh a h-anam.

CHAPTER ONE

ROSE O’MALLEY’S HEART was racing. Her skin felt clammy, her palms were sweaty and she was light-headed. She was basically exhibiting all the signs of heading into a full-blown panic attack, or some kind of emotional and physical meltdown, right here on a closed toilet seat in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive hotel bathrooms.

Her surroundings, opulent as they were, were only making things worse. Highlighting the fact that she shouldn’t be here. Highlighting the fact that this was not her world. She was one generation removed from Ireland, by way of Queens, and to say she felt like a fish out of water was an understatement.

Her reflection in the mirror on the back of the cubicle door showed a stranger. A sleek, soignée stranger. Her normally wavy shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair was all straight and glossy and coiled up into a sophisticated chignon at the back of her head.

Rose acknowledged faintly that she had a neck. She’d never noticed it before now.

Only the bottom half of her face was visible because the rest of it was obscured by a delicately ornate black and gold mask. Her eyes glinted out, looking very frightened and green and almost feverish. Her mouth was painted a garish red. Her cheeks were flushed.

She put the back of her hand to one burning cheek.

Relief flooded her for a moment. That was it: she was coming down with the flu. She ignored the little voice pointing out that they were in the middle of an abnormally warm New York spring and rationalised that she couldn’t possibly go out there now—she’d infect all the most important people in Manhattan with her germs.

But just as she was about to stand up, with her sheer black dress shimmering in the mirror, the main door of the powder room opened and some women came in, chattering excitedly. Rose sat back down again, a feeling of futility sinking into her bones.

Of course she didn’t have the flu.

But she still wasn’t ready to come into actual human contact with anyone. Thankfully she was in the end stall, furthest away from the door. She’d wait till they left.

One of the women who’d entered—Rose figured there were two—spoke in a loud indiscreet whisper. ‘Oh, my God. Did you see him? I mean, I know he’s totally hot—but seriously? I think my ovaries just exploded.’

The other woman’s tone was dry and sardonic. ‘Well, that’s just a waste of good eggs. It’s common knowledge he doesn’t want anything to do with the inheritance his family have bequeathed to any child he might have—he even changed his name to distance himself!’

The friend was incredulous. ‘Who on earth would turn their back on billions of dollars and a family name that dates back to the Mayflower?’

Rose’s insides cramped painfully. She knew exactly who: the most infamous man at the party. Zac Valenti. He was here. She’d been hoping he might not be. But he was. And now the palpitations were back.

The women were still gossiping amidst the sounds of rummaging in a bag.

‘Everyone thought he was having, like, a breakdown or something after he left Addison Carmichael waiting at the altar, but the man literally rose from the ashes.’

The voices got lower, and Rose found herself straining forward towards the door to hear.

‘They say that he’s now the richest eligible male in the United States.’

‘But did you get the vibe he sends off? Seriously cold—and moody. Like, you can look, but you can’t touch.’

The other voice turned dreamy. ‘I know… Those silent brooding types are so damned attractive.’

There was a squirt of something that sounded like perfume and a derisive snort. ‘I think it has a little more to do with the fact that he’s a walking gold mine for any woman who can succeed in getting him to be her baby daddy. He might not want his family’s fortune, but I for one would not say no—and whoever has his baby will have access to the famous Lyndon-Holt fortune.’

As those words reverberated, Rose chose that precise moment to overbalance and fall against the door of the cubicle with a clatter. She stiffened in horror as an awful silence descended over the powder room, and then she heard frantic hushed whispering and the rapid clickety-clack of heels as the women left again.

She sat back on the toilet seat and rubbed her shoulder where it had connected with the door. Hysteria rose. As those women had just pointed out, Zac Valenti was probably the man least likely to father a child, thanks to his well-documented estrangement from his family—the cause of which no one knew. But that hadn’t stopped the endless speculation as to why. He hadn’t even gone to his own father’s funeral when he’d died almost a year previously.

After the rift and the death of his father, a new version of the Lyndon-Holt will had been leaked to the press. It had revealed that if Zac had a child, boy or girl, that child would inherit the entire Lyndon-Holt fortune in lieu of Zac—as long as it carried the Lyndon-Holt name, of course. Many suspected that the details of the will had been leaked on purpose.

So now, if Zac Valenti fathered a child, there would be immense pressure on him not to deny it its rightful inheritance, and the child’s mother would have a say in it—including the naming of the child… Something Zac Valenti was undoubtedly aware of and which was probably behind the conveniently leaked will.

Which brought Rose O’Malley neatly back to the reason she was there in the first place. She was here to cold-bloodedly seduce Zac Valenti—one of the most coveted bachelors in the world—with her aim being, however impossible it might seem, to try and become pregnant with his child.

Rose’s mind boggled anew at what she’d agreed to. It was only now, a day later, that the panic and fear that had led her to making that decision had faded a little, restoring her to cold, stark reality. And the realisation that she’d made a pact with the devil.

Rose’s conversation with her employer, Mrs Lyndon-Holt, was still vivid in her mind—as vivid as the beautifully preserved woman’s ice-cold blue eyes.

Zac Valenti’s mother had held up the signed contract and said, ‘You are now bound by the terms of this agreement, Rose. If you become pregnant with my son’s child, and ensure that it will take the Lyndon-Holt name on its birth, it will inherit everything. And once I receive confirmation of your pregnancy, your father will go to a clinic and receive the best medical care for his condition.’

Mrs Lyndon-Holt had continued, ‘But if you break the terms of the non-disclosure agreement and reveal these details to anyone, you will be prosecuted with the full force of my legal team. In the event that you do have a baby but you don’t comply with these terms, I will crush you. Needless to say a legal contretemps between me—’ she’d looked Rose up and down pointedly here ‘—and a maid isn’t a fight you’ll want to engage in.’

The magnitude of what was at stake had hit Rose. She’d blurted out, ‘What on earth makes you think a man like your son would look twice at someone like me?’

The older woman had stood back and narrowed those calculating eyes. ‘A man as cynical and jaded as Zachary…? He’ll look. He can’t fail to notice a fresh-faced beauty like you. You just have to ensure that it goes beyond noticing.’

Rose came back to the present and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t feel fresh-faced or beautiful. She felt ridiculous, tainted. Garish. With her hot cheeks and the slash of red lipstick. In a fit of self-disgust she grabbed some tissue and wiped the lipstick off her lips.

She couldn’t do this. She should never have agreed to such an outlandish plan.

She stood up, galvanised into leaving this place and informing Mrs Lyndon-Holt that she could find someone else to be her sick baby bait. But the reason she’d agreed to it in the first place came back like a slap in the face, and she sat back down again heavily.

Her father. His face full of pain. Pale. Losing hope. Far too young at fifty-two to be facing certain death if he didn’t receive the operation he needed.

The kind of operation that was far beyond the reach of an ex-chauffeur and a humble maid, with only the most basic of health insurance.

It was a fact that Mrs Lyndon-Holt had seized upon to use to her advantage, capitalising on Rose’s fear and panic. Her father had worked as the Lyndon-Holts’ driver until Mr Lyndon-Holt had passed away, after which Mrs Lyndon-Holt had taken on new staff, without so much as a thank-you for years of service. Rose had kept her job, however, and it had been a relief at the time.

Shortly afterwards her father had started to feel unwell, and this had culminated in the diagnosis of a rare heart condition, fatal if not treated.

Rose battled with her conscience. The thought of her father succumbing to an inevitable decline was too much to bear. She’d lost her mother already—far too young. Her father was all she had left. They had no other family in America. And he could be saved easily. If he had the operation. The operation that Mrs Lyndon-Holt had agreed to pay for if Rose did this…

She looked at her glittering eyes and hectically flushed cheeks. She told herself that she would make an attempt to find Zac Valenti, but if she couldn’t find him—or if she did and he didn’t look at her twice, which she fully expected—then she would go. At least she would know that she’d tried her best.

And then she would worry about what to do with her father. But at least she would have given it a shot.

Zac Valenti looked around the massive glittering ballroom from his antisocial location leaning against a pillar at the back of the room. The opulent space shone with a thousand priceless jewels that screamed the social status of their skinny owners like lurid neon signs over their heads.

One woman passed him, literally weighted down with baubles. Her hand looked barely strong enough to carry the enormous ruby cocktail ring on her index finger. Then she caught sight of him and he could see her eyes widen comically behind her elaborately feathered mask as she almost tripped over her feet.

Evidently his own understated black mask wasn’t an effective shield for his identity. Zac’s mouth tightened. As if he needed proof that he was still the enfant terrible of Manhattan, after delivering the biggest scandal to rock the island in decades when he, Zachary Lyndon-Holt—golden boy and heir apparent to become the uncrowned King of New York—had broken up with his family and given up his inheritance.

Not to mention leaving his fiancée standing at the altar of one of Manhattan’s oldest Gothic churches in her bespoke Oscar da la Renta wedding dress.

Addison Carmichael, a blue-blooded WASP from the top of her gleaming blonde head and her blue eyes to her toes, was nothing if not a product of her breeding and background—and she was as tenacious as a Jack Russell terrier. Within a year she’d married into a well-known political family dynasty and was currently the wife of a New York senator.

When Zac bumped into her now she smiled at him with only the slightest tinge of malice—his ensuing rupture with his family had diluted her public humiliation somewhat.

He hadn’t been worried about causing her emotional trauma—it wasn’t as if they’d had a love match. His relationship with her had been as much of a charade as the rest of his life at that time. And he could only be thankful that he’d discovered the ugly truth in his family before he’d sleepwalked into a veritable prison of his parents’ making.

He cursed silently and corrected himself: his grandparents making.

He’d grown up knowing them as his parents until the day he’d found out otherwise, when his world as he’d known it had exploded out of all recognition.

But he’d stayed standing.

And after the shock had passed he’d discovered that all he cared about was the heinous betrayal of the two people who had brought him into this world. A resolve had filled him to honour his real father and mother—not the people who had brought him up as if he was an ill-favoured guest in his own home.

That day he’d had an incredible sense of his own personal destiny rising from the ashes, outside of the weighty yoke of the great Lyndon-Holt name which he’d never felt entirely comfortable with. And so he’d thrown it off, together with everything else bound with that name. And he’d never looked back.

He was determined to make the Valenti name as revered as the one he’d been born with. He owed it to his immigrant Italian father, who’d had the temerity to fall for a Lyndon-Holt princess and in the eyes of her family had sullied her aristocratic beauty…

The fact that a sizeable part of Zac’s wealth now came from his new-found career as a hotelier and nightclub owner caused him no little measure of satisfaction—because he knew damn well how much it would enrage his grandmother.

Not to mention the tabloid headlines that had followed his latest nightclub opening, when the supermodel currently being hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world had been papped leaving his apartment late the next morning, looking thoroughly bedded and sexily dishevelled.

So why aren’t you returning her calls? asked a snide little voice, which Zac tried to ignore. The sex had been…adequate. But the truth was that their encounter had reminded him a little too forcibly of that feeling of disconnection he’d experienced when he’d discovered the deceit in his family. As if nothing was really real. As if he was a construct…

But he wasn’t a construct. He was flesh and blood and very real. And those people could send snide looks and whisper all they wanted—because Zac Valenti was enjoying being a constant reminder that they were all part of the façade, just as he had been. A reminder that they were hypocrites and just as liable to fall from grace as he had. Even though he hadn’t really fallen—he’d jumped.

He rolled his shoulders in the confines of his bespoke three-piece tuxedo suit, feeling claustrophobic and irritated with the insular direction of his thoughts.

He looked around, seeking distraction.

A flutter of movement in his peripheral vision made him look to his right. He found his gaze resting on the slender figure of a woman in a long, black, backless dress.

She was facing away from him—about ten feet away. So far so unremarkable—Zac had seen women dressed in a lot less in the name of fashion, even if her back was remarkably pale and the line of her spine curved temptingly just before it disappeared under her dress. But something about her kept him looking, and as he did, narrowing his gaze, he realised with a jolt of awareness that her dress was seductively sheer.

She moved then—shifting her weight, stretching up slightly as if she was looking for someone in the crowd—and the dress revealed slim yet obvious curves, the globes of her pert bottom encased in black underwear. His eyes travelled up her long, slender back to where strawberry blonde hair was upswept, revealing a graceful neck.

The ends of the black ribbon of her mask trailed in the golden-red strands, and Zac had an insane urge to go over and undo it. Turn her around to face him. He wanted to see her.

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, wondering what the hell was going on. Women didn’t usually attract his attention without trying.

Then she turned sideways, towards him, and the jolt of awareness became something much earthier and stronger. The black dress teased at an inordinate amount of pale skin, even though she was covered from neck to ankle, and Zac found that he was holding his breath as his gaze landed on her breasts. They were on the small side, but beautifully shaped, pert and upthrust against the fine material.

Evidently she wore no bra, as the dress was backless. With that realisation a rush of heat went straight to his groin, and Zac found himself reduced to the kind of hormonal surges a teenage boy might feel, captivated by his first pictures of naked women.

Her features were mostly obscured by the mask, but he could make out a ripe mouth and delicate jaw. Everything about her was graceful…feminine. She held a full champagne glass in her hand, and from where he stood he could see how white her knuckles were. He realised that she looked uncomfortable, or ill at ease.

He frowned, but just then a waiter passed by and she quickly stepped forward, put her glass on his tray and turned away again. It was as if she’d made some kind of decision. She started walking in the opposite direction, her movements jerky, almost panicked, but she didn’t get far because a large group of men blocked her. She hovered uncertainly, craning forward as if to try and see another way out.

Zac’s interest was spiked in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. Because if there was one thing he knew about this crowd, it was that everyone here felt entitled and no one hesitated…over anything. They barrelled through, regardless of niceties. So she was an anomaly, and Zac was suddenly wide awake and deliciously distracted.

Rose was feeling a mixture of sick dread and relief. She couldn’t see Zac Valenti anywhere. And right now she just wanted to get out of there—out of this stifling room full of people dressed like glittering peacocks, where she didn’t belong, in a dress that made her feel like a call girl.

The stylist Mrs Lyndon-Holt had hired had been like an army officer, barking at Rose to get dressed. When she’d tried to voice her objections the woman had given her a steely look and said, ‘I’ve been given a brief and you’re wearing that dress.’

Humiliation crawled up Rose’s spine as she thought of the instructions the stylist must have received: She needs to look good enough to catch my son’s eye, but slutty enough to make him believe she’s up for it.

Relief at the thought that Zac Valenti must have left washed over Rose again. She reassured herself that there was no way he’d have looked at her twice anyway. The man took supermodels as his lovers, for crying out loud! Not pale and freckled maids who worked in big houses and got themselves embroiled in a deception that was utterly heinous.

Rose was still being comprehensively blocked by a group of men and she balled her hands into fists, determined to push her way through if she had to.

‘I sincerely hope you’re not planning on taking a swing at the mayor of New York. I’m sure he’ll let you through if you ask nicely.’

The voice was deep and sexy and very close to Rose’s ear. She spun around in fright and came face to chest with a tall, powerful body. She had to look up, and up again, to see the man’s face.

Her heart stopped.

Even the small black mask couldn’t hide his identity.

Zac Valenti. He hadn’t left. He was right here.

The mask obscured the upper part of his face, but not the piercing blue eyes glinting down at her. He was famous for his blue eyes. Some called them icy, but right now all she could feel was a disturbing level of heat rising through her body.

Rose’s first thought was that pictures could never have prepared her for seeing him in the flesh. He towered over her own not inconsiderable five feet seven inches, and his shoulders were broad enough to block out the room behind him.

His hair was dark golden brown, thick and wavy. He was dark—darker than he looked in pictures—with a hard jaw and a firm and wickedly sensual mouth, currently tipped up sexily at one side.

He oozed the kind of easy charm and grace that came with impeccable breeding and inestimable wealth. He made Rose think of how she’d imagined Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby when she’d read the book. Aristocratic. Untouchable. Impossibly handsome. A golden being.

Something deep and unfamiliar inside Rose pulsed to life, disturbingly intense. Hot. It struck her: sexual awareness. It was like being plugged into an electrical socket. Her relatively sheltered life with her father, after her mother had died, hadn’t allowed for much time to mingle with the opposite sex. Rose had been too busy worrying about her father and the deep pit of despair he’d fallen into.

Zac Valenti cocked his head to one side, eyes sparkling, ‘I take it that you can talk?’

Rose found one brain cell that wasn’t still frozen in shock and nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly, and then more strongly, getting a grip on herself, ‘Yes, I can talk.’

‘That’s a relief.’ He held out a hand and smiled. ‘Zac Valenti—pleased to meet you.’

His smile had the wattage of the sun at full blast. Rose had to stop herself from blurting out, I know exactly who you are.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m Rose.’

His hand engulfed hers. Warm and strong. Slightly rough. He was no soft city boy. Between her legs, her flesh jumped in response.

‘Just Rose?’

She was about to supply her second name when she thought of something and panic made her belly swoop. He might recognise her name—she and her father had worked for his family. She thought quickly and said, ‘Murphy. Rose Murphy.’ It had been her mother’s maiden name.

‘With a name and colouring like that you can’t be anything but Irish.’

Rose was sweating. ‘My parents emigrated here just before I was born.’

She pulled her hand back from his. Even though she’d met him now she still couldn’t do this. She was out of her depth, her league…her everything. Shouldn’t men like Zac Valenti have cordons of bodyguards around them? Yet he didn’t. He was like a lone wolf. This had been a crazy plan and one she couldn’t possibly execute.

She stepped back.

‘Where are you going?’

Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. ‘I have to…go…’ she said lamely.

‘Without a dance?’

He extended his hand again and now Rose felt a different kind of panic surge. ‘I don’t dance.’

‘I find that hard to believe—who doesn’t know how to dance?’

Someone who grew up watching the girls in her class go to dance classes and who buried her envy because she knew her parents couldn’t afford to send her.

Suddenly angry at being in this position, and in this place, Rose said sharply, ‘Well, I don’t…and I really should go.’

She turned away, only to feel a hand closing around her arm, tugging her back. Damn the man. Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Already she was feeling remorse for being sharp. This had nothing to do with him. Well, it did…but he wasn’t aware of her nefarious intentions.

Oh, God. She felt nauseous.

He’d put his hands on her arms now, and she looked up into that classically perfect face.

He was concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

Predictably, Rose’s brain cells were scrambling again under that blue gaze. ‘You didn’t. I was being silly—I’m sorry.’

His mouth tipped up again in that sexy way. ‘Was that our first fight?’

Rose’s belly swooped alarmingly. ‘You’re very smooth,’ she remarked dryly, even as she battled surprise that he wasn’t more…arrogant. She’d had no idea he would be so charming or flirtatious. She hadn’t expected to like him.

But then, she thought with uncharacteristic cynicism, if she’d been there as one of the impeccably clad waitresses he really wouldn’t have looked twice at her. And she wasn’t so naive she couldn’t see that underneath the suave exterior were the sharp talons of his own cynicism. A man like him, from a world like this…? His mother was right: they didn’t come more jaded.

He smiled, oblivious to her inner turmoil. ‘I try.’

Then he slid his hands down her arms, slowly enough to make her breath quicken and her skin prickle into goosebumps. Especially when he brushed against the sides of her breasts.

He took her hand in his and started to lead her towards the dance floor, where couples were swaying cheek to cheek to the seductive tones of sultry jazz.

Rose put her other hand over his and tried to tug free. Aware of a lot of curious looks, she whispered desperately, ‘Really, I’ve never—’

He sent her a look over his shoulder, stopping her words. ‘Trust me.’

They were on the dance floor now, and Zac swung Rose round until she was in front of him. She looked at him helplessly. He took her right hand and held it in his and slid his other arm around her back, up high, his hand spreading out over bare skin. And then he pulled her close and she stumbled forward slightly, right into his taut, lean body.

Every thought left her head. Why she was there. What she was there for. Who she was. All she was aware of was how it felt to be held so close to this man, every inch of his tall body, hard and muscled, against her much softer one.

Her breasts were pressed against his chest. His hand was making small subtle movements against the skin of her back. And they were moving, going around in a circle across the floor. Rose couldn’t actually feel her feet. She was floating.

Her nipples had tightened to hard points, pressing against her dress. She’d never been so aware of herself as a woman before. She blushed and ducked her head. A finger came under her chin, tipping her face up again. Even in spite of the mask she could see that Valenti looked incredulous.

He shook his head and frowned. ‘Are you for real?’

‘Of course I’m real,’ Rose answered automatically, becoming aware of her surroundings again as she saw a woman gliding past, a condescending expression in her eyes as she looked Rose over from behind her own ornate mask. She tensed in his arms. ‘Look, Mr Valenti, I really should—’

He pulled her closer and growled, ‘It’s Zac. Mr Valenti makes me sound like an old man. And I’m not an old man—yet.’

She looked up at him and gulped. He most certainly was not an old man. He was young and dynamic and virile. And she couldn’t believe she was in his arms. Even though this had been the exact objective of the evening…

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘you’re the only woman here who isn’t wearing one piece of jewellery?’

Rose immediately scrambled to think of something to say under that incisive blue gaze. ‘I…er…I’d be afraid of losing something.’

Zac shook his head again in that slightly incredulous way. ‘Your jewels aren’t insured?’

Rose cursed herself. Of course, every woman here would have insured each priceless jewel she owned to within an inch of its life. However, the only precious jewellery she owned was her mother’s engagement ring, and that had more sentimental value than real value.

She affected what she hoped was an air of nonchalance and fudged telling the truth with deflection. ‘The current trend is that less is more.’

Zac’s hand moved then, slowly down her back, his fingers trailing along her spine down to where her back started to curve just above her dress, and her entire body flushed with heat.

He said throatily, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

Run—quick, run! said a voice in Rose’s head. She was playing a high-stakes game and she was not remotely prepared or ready. And yet, a small stark voice reminded her, she didn’t have much of a choice. If she wanted her beloved father to get better. To live.

‘What do you say we get out of here? Go somewhere a little less…stuffy.’

Zac’s voice cut through her troubled thoughts and feelings of guilt. She wasn’t a dishonest person and she’d never told a lie in her life. Yet right now she was actively engaged in deceiving this man with every word that came out of her mouth. With her very presence.

But the huge room did feel as if it was closing in on them. The heat was stifling. Weakly choosing more time to think about her predicament, Rose said, ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

Zac smiled, and it had a quality to it that wasn’t remotely civilised. But before she could change her mind he was tugging her off the dance floor, her hand firmly in his, and she had to lift her dress to keep up with him as he cut a swathe through the crowd.

Rose was aware that she could probably just tug her hand out of his and flee, get lost in the crowd and escape through a side entrance, but…treacherously…she didn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

ONCE THEY WERE in the vast marbled lobby, the increased flow of oxygen helped to unlock a delayed dose of cynicism that mocked Zac for being so taken by a woman. Yet even this rush of sanity couldn’t stop the realisation that he hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

And certainly no woman had ever precipitated this level of arousal. He took her over to a secluded area and as soon as he looked at her he felt any attempt to control his libido turn to dust.

Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was moving up and down rapidly. Cynicism be damned. He didn’t want its protection now—he needed to see her. He took his own mask off and threw it carelessly but expertly into a nearby bin. He saw how her eyes widened on his face and his body pulsed with desire.

‘Now you,’ he said softly. ‘I want to see you.’

For a second she bit her lip, and he had the crazy notion that she was going to refuse and walk away and he’d be left with just her name… But then she nodded a little jerkily and took her hands out of his to lift them to the back of her head.

‘Wait—’ Zac cursed silently. His voice sounded too harsh. Needy.

She looked at him, arms lifted.

‘I want to do it. Turn around.’

Slowly her arms came down and she turned, giving him her bare, slender back. Zac had to restrain himself from slipping his hands under the sides of her dress and around to cup her breasts in his palms. Just imagining the scrape of small hard nipples against his skin was enough to send his arousal levels into orbit.

Instead he lifted his hands to where the mask was tied and undid the knot, letting it fall open. She caught the mask in her hand, in front of her face, and Zac slowly turned her around again, a crazy surge of anticipation tightening his gut.

And when she lifted her face to his…he stopped breathing.

She was stunning. But in a way that caught Zac in a different place than when he usually looked at a beautiful woman. She was ethereal…delicate. The faintest trail of freckles sat across her small, straight nose. Her cheekbones were high, elevating her face out of mere prettiness. And her mouth was ripe and full, like a crushed rosebud. Rose, indeed. Not caked in lipstick. Ripe for kissing.

Her eyes held him captive. Huge and green, with tiny flecks of gold.

They stood looking at each other for long silent seconds—until Zac realised that they were still in a public place. He’d never lost himself like this…in a moment. As if she was some fey creature in an enchanted wood who’d captivated him.

Feeling more than a little exposed, he took a breath and stepped back. Rose blinked, her long black lashes a contrast to her fair brows. Suddenly Zac wanted to see her in a more contemporary setting, as if that might somehow help defuse this sense of not being connected to reality any more.

He took her hand in his again and started to lead her back to the main part of the lobby, sending a silent signal to the attentive concierge to get his car brought round.

‘Wait…where are we going?’

She was tugging on Zac’s hand and he stopped to face her. There was something he’d never seen before in the depths of those amazing emerald-green eyes. Wariness. Women weren’t wary around Zac. They were confident, seductive. Intent on pursuing him.

Not this one. Bells rang in his head, telling him to be suspicious. But the heat in his body drowned them out. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. There was something about her that called to a very animalistic part of him.

‘We’re going to one of my clubs.’

Rose’s eyes widened slightly. She appeared almost reluctant, but then she said, ‘Okay.’

Zac felt a moment of lightness bubble up inside him. ‘Just…okay? You don’t care which one?’ He did own three of the most successful clubs in Manhattan, after all.

‘Should I?’

Her guileless question caught him unawares. Of course she shouldn’t. But in his experience everyone always wanted to go to the hottest place. The place that was so hot it wasn’t even hot yet.

Zac tugged her closer. ‘I’ll choose, then, shall I?’

She just nodded. He very badly wanted to kiss her right then, but he’d never indulged in public displays of affection in his life, and he was aware of a million pairs of curious eyes on them. So he drew back.

A discreet cough came from nearby. ‘Mr Valenti? Your car is here.’

Zac thanked the man and led Rose outside to where the valet was holding the passenger door open. Zac tipped him and helped Rose into the low-slung silver Falcone sports car.

When he’d got in behind the wheel he looked over to see her staring straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap, still holding on to her mask. She swallowed, the long graceful column of her throat moving up and down. She was tense.

Something alien moved within Zac. Concern. ‘I can take you home, if you’d prefer?’

Personally, he would prefer to walk over hot coals than let her go anywhere out of his sight. But he was not about to admit that weakness.

After a few interminable seconds she turned to look at him and the shadows of the car made her face even more ethereally beautiful. She was pale, but determined. As if she’d made some kind of decision.

She shook her head. ‘No, I want to go with you.’

Zac felt a disturbingly strong flare of triumph. He ignored it and lifted her hand, forcing it to uncurl, slipping his fingers between hers. A relatively chaste gesture, but one that felt positively carnal when he saw how her eyes dilated. He brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles. A sweet, delicate scent filled his nostrils. Tantalising. Innocent.

His body tightened with anticipation.

‘Well, then, let’s go.’

Rose was very aware that she’d had two opportunities now to decline Zac Valenti’s invitation gracefully and leave. Before this farce continued. But as he’d looked down at her in the lobby she’d been agreeing before she’d been able to stop herself, transfixed by his sheer male beauty.

And what excuse did she have for saying yes just now? None.

But, as Zac’s car purred silently and powerfully through the streets of Manhattan, for the first time in her life Rose felt a very rogue urge to rebel, to do something she wanted. Which was to eke out another few illicit moments in his company.

She’d never felt so intoxicated. It was heady. The way he’d removed her mask…it was the closest she’d ever come to an erotic moment. And then the way he’d looked at her, with such thrillingly explicit intent… Her heart still beat a frantic tattoo.

She’d never had much of a chance to indulge in flirtation with men; her time had been taken up with work and caring for her father. Was it so bad to want a little more of this man’s attention?

Yes, because you know very well that if he knew who you were and why you were here he’d have you out of the car so fast your head would be spinning for a year…

That almost caused Rose to turn in her seat and ask Zac to stop the car, but they were pulling up outside the club now, which appeared to be in the basement of a very tall, gleaming modern building.

Zac looked at her when the car had come to a stop. She was transfixed by his mouth, and imagined what it might be like on hers. On her skin.

‘I’m glad you came with me.’

And just like that all of Rose’s good intentions were blasted to pieces by wicked desire.

He got out of the car and walked around the bonnet, his powerful body sheathed in that amazing suit. He stopped at her door and opened it, which she was grateful for, as she realised that the car was way too fancy and sleek for her to know where the handle was—if there even was something as pedestrian as a handle.

When he’d helped her out she became aware of a long queue of hopefuls outside the roped-off doors of the club. She was also peripherally aware of a flurry of activity between the doormen and someone who looked very officious when they realised who had just arrived. The owner and their boss.

Suddenly there was a cacophony of calls: ‘Zac! Zac!’ And Rose was vaguely aware of him putting his arm around her and shielding her as he all but bundled her through a door beside the main one. It was being held open by one of the bouncers.

When the door had closed behind them he turned to her, concerned. ‘Are you okay? Luckily the paparazzi didn’t get us.’

She nodded, her ears still ringing from the shouting. ‘I think so.’

He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, quirking a smile. ‘I’m more used to people waiting until they’re sure they have been comprehensively papped.’

Rose shuddered at the very idea of her picture being splashed on the front pages of the tabloids. The thought was horrific. And of course he was referring to the kind of women who were as used to this kind of scene as she was used to a black and white uniform with an apron and to people never looking her in the eye.

But he was looking her right in the eye now, and it was very hard to regret being here. Even though she knew it was wrong.

‘Shall we?’

He put out a hand, indicating for her to precede him down a narrow corridor, luxuriously carpeted, with dark walls. It screamed sin and decadence, and it was a world away from anything she had ever experienced.

Another spurt of that dangerously rebellious spirit urged her on. Just a few more minutes, Rose assured herself. And then she would go.

She walked ahead of Zac, and she could feel the pounding bass beat of the music coming from all around them. They were approaching a door, and as if by magic it was opened by a handsome young man in a suit. He gave a small deferential nod as they walked in.

She came to a stop inside what was clearly the VIP space, with its velvet banquette seats and gleaming table. There was a railing and steps leading down to the dance floor, which was on the level below. The bottom of the stairs was guarded by another huge bouncer.

The dance floor was filled with hundreds of scantily clad lithe and gyrating bodies. Everyone looked like a supermodel. The local nightclub near where she’d grown up, on Bliss Street, Queens, could never have prepared Rose for this sophisticated spectacle.

She was mesmerised for long seconds, and then she felt a prickling sensation across her skin and looked to see Zac leaning with one arm on the railing, staring at her with a small smile. He was holding two delicate flutes filled with sparkling wine and he handed her one.

She accepted it, hoping she didn’t look like a total wide-eyed hick, and he clinked his glass to hers.

‘Here’s to…new friends.’

‘New friends…’ she echoed, and took a sip of the golden wine, delighting in the way it fizzed as it slid down her throat. She’d been too nervous to contemplate drinking any of the champagne at the function earlier.

He took her hand with an ease that set her pulse on fire and led her over to the seat—a semi-circular shape around the table. She felt unaccountably self-conscious and nervous now that it was just the two of them in this dimly lit intimate space.

She gestured to the heaving dance floor below and asked a little shakily, ‘Is this where you come to survey your kingdom?’

Somewhere along the way Zac’s bow tie had come rakishly undone and the top button of his shirt was open. As was his waistcoat. There was space between them, but with his snowy white shirt pulled across his flat belly and one arm spread out along the back of the seat, with a hand resting near Rose’s head, she felt as hot as if they were touching. The darkness of his skin was visible through his shirt.

He shrugged minutely, dragging Rose’s attention north again. Something crossed his face…some indecipherable expression. Almost distaste. But it was gone before she could analyse it.

‘It’s a prettier view than the floor of the stock exchange.’

His words were flippant, but Rose detected something sharp. He gave off a blasé air, but she didn’t think he was for a second. She could tell that he was supremely aware of absolutely everything going on, and she would guess that there wasn’t the smallest thing left to chance.

‘I wouldn’t know what that looks like,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been there.’

Zac’s gaze narrowed on her and her skin felt tight all over.

‘So tell me about you. I haven’t seen you around before…’

She curbed a semi-hysterical giggle. ‘That’s because I’m not really from around here.’

Zac frowned. ‘But you’re a New Yorker?’

Rose took another fortifying sip of champagne. Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cut-glass tones came back to her. ‘Don’t lie—he’ll see through you in an instant. Be honest. He won’t connect you to here. He was gone before you started working for us.’

Her guts were tangled into a knot. She couldn’t believe it had really come to this. She felt as if at any moment she’d wake up back in that toilet cubicle. Maybe she’d knocked her head as well as her shoulder—

‘Rose…?’

She looked at Zac Valenti. This was no dream. He was as real as she was.

Illicit excitement vied with fear and guilt. She swallowed. ‘Yes, I’m a New Yorker. From Queens. The truth is…’ She faltered for a moment, tempted to blurt the whole thing out, but then the reminder of her signature on the bottom of that non-disclosure agreement told her that she couldn’t. No matter what happened.

It was like a slap on the face.

She couldn’t tell him the full truth but she could tell him this. ‘The fact is that I’m just a maid… I really shouldn’t have been at that function earlier, but my boss gave me a ticket. This isn’t my world. I’m no one special, really.’

Rose almost hoped that this would be enough to have Zac Valenti recoiling in horror, hastening back to his own kind. But his expression only hardened in a way that she could see wasn’t directed at her.

‘It’s as much your world as anyone else’s, believe me.’

Her insides lurched. She hadn’t expected him to express solidarity, and she was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.

Then he took her glass out of her hand and put it down on the table alongside his own. He stood up from the seat, pulling Rose with him. ‘I want to show you something.’

She balked. She wasn’t meant to be prolonging this, but there was something intense in his expression.

Weakly, she said, ‘But we just got here.’

He looked at her. ‘Do you really want to stay?’

Rose ripped her gaze away from his and looked down over the club—it was spectacular and sinfully seductive, but ultimately it left her cold. Like a beautiful picture with no depth.

She shook her head. ‘No.’

A small smile touched his mouth and then he was leading her back the way they’d come—except instead of going back out to the entrance of the club Zac was going through a secret door that led them into a massive and hushed lobby.

A man in uniform jumped to attention from behind a security desk as soon as he saw Zac. ‘Mr Valenti, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’

Zac lifted a hand. ‘Relax, George, I’m good.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Valenti.’ He nodded at Rose. ‘Ma’am.’

They were stepping into a lift now, and flutters of trepidation mocked Rose’s inability to do what she knew she should: leave. Angry with her own weakness, she pulled her hand free and tried not to be so aware of Zac in the small space, but it was hard when he dominated it.

‘Where are we going, exactly?’

He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright enough to hurt. ‘Trust me.’

He’d said that twice now. This man was a complete stranger to her, and yet she was allowing him to lead her astray as easily as if she was a lemming going over a cliff.

Irritation with herself made her say testily, ‘I barely know you.’

He leant back against the wall of the elevator, hands in his pockets, exuding louche arrogance, and arched an amused brow. ‘Do you really think I’d have alerted a witness to the fact that I’m with you if I was intent on some wicked deed?’

Heat bloomed deep inside Rose at the look in his eyes that told her his head was indeed filled with all sorts of delicious wickedness. But she was the one who was really being wicked here.

The bell pinged then, and Zac straightened up and said, ‘I promise to deliver you straight back to George if you don’t want to stay…’

She was just thinking Stay where? when the doors slid open and she gasped.

Rose stepped out and blinked hard. It was like stepping through the back of a wardrobe into Narnia. If Narnia was under a star-filled Manhattan sky.

It was a garden, with some parts like a wild meadow and others like a very ordered English garden. Rose didn’t even realise she’d walked so far until she saw she was standing right in the middle of a huge green space on a central paved walkway.

The dark smudge of Central Park was visible in the distance and lights twinkled from the buildings around them, giving the illusion of being suspended in mid-air, amongst the tall structures.

‘This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she breathed in awe, thinking poignantly of her mother, who had loved gardens.

‘It took some time to perfect.’

She looked at Zac as understanding dawned. ‘You built this…? How long did it take?’

Five years, to be precise. But Zac didn’t say that. He led Rose over to an elevated terrace that looked in the opposite direction.

When they were at the railing he guided her in front of him and placed his arms around hers, his hands resting on either side of her on the rail. Trapping her against him.

He gritted his jaw but his body reacted helplessly, rising to the temptation of the provocation of her buttocks against him.

She was tense. Again, not a reaction he was used to with women, who were generally all too eager to capitalise on his exclusive interest.

In a bid to slow the blood rushing to his crotch, he leant forward slightly and pointed. ‘See over there? That’s the Rockefeller Center.’

Her head moved to the left, away from Zac, and he struggled not to press his mouth to her bared neck. The urge to bite that pale skin was almost overwhelming. With some dark humour he figured that he knew how vampires felt. Her scent was light and floral. Sweet. Sexy. Intoxicating.

Curbing his desire, he pointed again to the right. ‘That’s Carnegie Hall. Times Square is just beyond.’

Rose’s face was close to Zac’s now, turning to follow the direction of his finger. She was trembling very lightly, her hands in a white-knuckled grip on the railing.

Her voice was husky. ‘Is this what you do to impress women?’ She huffed a little laugh. ‘I have to admit, it’s working.’

Zac stood up straight, surprised at the immediate indignation he felt. He was no angel, but he resented the insinuation that this was a well-worn routine.

He turned Rose to face him. Her green eyes were huge. Luminous. ‘I don’t bring any women up here. You’re the first.’

Rose looked up at one of Manhattan’s most desirable men, standing against the backdrop of a glittering city that he could command to do his will with a mere click of his fingers. It was the kind of view most New Yorkers were only lucky enough to see if they queued up to climb the Empire State building or similar tourist attractions. And it was in his backyard.

It was all so unexpected…and especially this amazing, incongruous and wondrous slice of greenery that he’d created, which was so magical.

She desperately wanted to believe he was just spinning her a line, because that would help her feel disgusted with herself—and him. And that would give her the impetus she needed to leave, and walk away.

But she couldn’t move—treacherously. Was he lying? But why would he lie? As if he needed to impress a woman with a mere garden—even if it did soar magically above one of the most vibrant cities in the world. The thought that she really might be the first woman he’d brought here was a little overwhelming and ultimately too seductive to resist.

As if sensing her vacillation, her desire to believe him, Zac cupped her jaw, his fingers light on the back of her neck. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Rose. You’re different…’

She swallowed down an urge to giggle at his understatement. ‘You can say that again.’

Her heart thumped erratically against her breastbone. She wasn’t aware of their surroundings any more, only of the fact that he was looking at her as if she truly was…something special.

For all that she had a soft, romantic core that she didn’t show to the world, and in spite of her unfashionable lack of experience, she was street-smart and had a healthy cynicism about men and love.

You couldn’t be a woman living in the twenty-first century in New York and not know that fairy tales really only existed in movies or books. But Zac Valenti was dangerous, because he made her yearn for something that she’d seen between her parents. He made her think that perhaps the fairy tale was possible…

Zac’s head ducked at that moment, and before Rose could finish her thought his mouth was settling over hers and words and thoughts fused into one blinding white flash of heat.

Fairy tales were the last thing on Rose’s mind now, under the masterful and expert touch of Zac’s hard mouth. Carnality—that was on her mind as heat raced through her bloodstream and into every erogenous zone, breathing fire into her nerve endings until they were tingling and jumping.

He’d cupped both hands around her face now, and his tongue was sliding past her shamefully weak and shy resistance to stroke and explore, urging her mouth open, compelling her to accept him.

The sheer power of his kiss was breathtaking, and so was the arrogance with which he calmly and methodically went about stealing her sanity.

Rose only realised she was clinging on to his waist when her fingers encountered hard, unyielding muscle. The kiss was hard, yet soft, and rough enough to send a thrill through her. She was gasping when Zac left her mouth to kiss along her jawline.

He pulled her closer, one arm wrapped so far around her back that his hand slid under her dress, across her bare skin. His fingers were tantalisingly close to her breast. His other hand undid her hair and Rose could feel it fall down and his fingers exploring, threading through the silken strands, cupping her skull.

Rose let her head fall back, giving him better access to her jaw and neck, and his mouth blazed a trail of fire across her skin.

Dimly, she knew she should be making some kind of effort to stop this, but the temptation to go deeper into this new world of sensations was too great to resist. She felt powerful, feminine. Desirable.

Zac lifted his head from her neck and Rose looked up, dazed. Her breath was coming fast and harsh and her breasts were moving against his chest, making her aware of how hard her nipples were.

His eyes burned a bright blue, his cheeks were flushed, and a lock of hair flopped onto his brow. It made her feel curiously tender amidst the tumult rushing through her system.

Then he subtly moved his hips, and the bold thrust of his erection told her far more starkly just how real this was. And his words.

‘I want you.’

His voice sounded guttural and almost coarse. It should have jarred against this beautiful and civilised backdrop, but it didn’t. Because high on this terrace, overlooking the shining city, Rose felt disconnected from everything but this moment and this man. His coarseness and his arousal resonated deep inside her.

She struggled to put some kind of brake on this crazy, all-consuming urge just to say yes. She put her hands on his chest, forced some space between them. She felt undone, with her hair around her face and her mouth swollen from his kisses.

‘I don’t…do this.’ The words were a hopelessly ineffectual attempt to articulate her confusion.

Zac finally—mercifully—straightened and moved back a little too. His mouth twisted. ‘Would you believe me if I said I don’t do this either?’

The space between them finally restored some of Rose’s functioning brain cells. Because she knew very well that Zac might not have brought a woman up to this garden, but he did do this. Very frequently, if the gossip columns were to be believed.

She stepped back, burningly aware of the telltale dampness between her legs. She folded her arms across her chest, residual heat making her feel prickly. ‘You might not do this here, but you do seduce women elsewhere. So, no, I don’t believe you when you say you “don’t do this”.’

His expression hardened, giving Rose an insight into another, more intimidating side of this man that she hadn’t seen yet.

‘I’m not a monk, but I’m not a player. Women know where they stand with me, and when I take a lover I’m faithful to her for as long as it lasts. We have fun and then we move on. I’m not into commitment.’

I’m not into commitment. Rose hated the swoop of her insides to hear it articulated so baldly.

She lifted her chin. ‘And is that what you’re offering here?’ She cursed herself, feeling impossibly gauche. Show the girl from Queens a cool club and an even cooler secret rooftop garden and she’d be eating out of your hand like a bird. Throw in one of the world’s most gorgeous and eligible bachelors and she’d be ready to do a lot more.

But that’s why you’re here, a snide voice reminded her. So who was she to judge him? He didn’t deserve her judgment!

Rose whirled away from that penetrating blue gaze before he might see something, her stomach in knots and her brain freezing at the thought that what she’d been sent to accomplish had so nearly become a reality…

Zac cursed behind her, and even though she’d only known him a few hours she could already imagine him raking a hand through his hair.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said frigidly. ‘No doubt you’re used to a more…sophisticated response.’

It’s not that,’ he grated harshly. ‘I’m angry with myself. I’m not in the habit of propositioning women within hours of meeting them.’

Slowly she turned around to face him again. His face was unreadable but his eyes glowed. The knots in her belly loosened. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. This man was proud. Prouder than anyone she’d ever met.

She could at least be honest about this. ‘I don’t even know you.’

Zac’s mouth quirked with that easy sexiness and he leant back against the railing, his hands behind him. Lord and master of all he surveyed. Power and privilege sitting easily on his shoulders.

‘Most people assume they know me.’

Rose felt shy and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘That’s understandable, I guess.’

He turned and faced forward again, leaning on the railing. He looked out over the view for a long moment, and then he looked sideways at her. His voice had a resigned quality. ‘What do you say to a coffee and then I’ll arrange for my driver to take you home?’

The rush of disappointment was acute, even though Rose knew she should be welcoming it. Zac was obviously bored rigid. But even that thought couldn’t compel her do the right thing when she had the chance. She longed for a few last seconds basking in his golden aura.

‘Okay, that sounds good.’

She told herself that she welcomed the chance to sober up, even though she’d hardly even drunk. She felt drunk though—drunk on this man.

Zac just nodded, showing no discernible emotion at her acquiescence, and she preceded him back through the garden.

He directed her to a different door this time, not back to the lift. He opened it and indicated for Rose to go first. She went down a spiralling set of stone steps and then he was reaching past her to push open another heavy door. A huge vast space with floor-to-ceiling glass windows was revealed as she stepped over the threshold.

‘This is my apartment.’

Of course he had the apartment below the garden. Above the nightclub. He probably owned the building.

‘Make yourself comfortable. How do you like your coffee?’

Rose was momentarily distracted by the views outside the massive windows. ‘White with one sugar, please.’

She walked into the casual living space, with lots of luxurious-looking sofas and sleek coffee tables, strewn with big photography and art books. A media centre was set up on shelves that formed a dividing wall, with well-thumbed books and DVDs.

The stark minimalism of a quintessential bachelor pad was evident, but it was softened.

‘Coffee?’

Rose jumped at his voice where she’d been standing, looking at his DVDs, and took the cup he held out, noticing that he’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat, so now he was just wearing the open-necked white shirt and trousers.

He gestured with his head towards the shelves. ‘Don’t tell anyone about my predilection for vintage Kung-Fu movies, will you?’

Rose forced a smile and tried to ignore the sensation of her heart turning over. ‘I won’t.’

The lights of the vast city around them lit up the huge space and it was impossibly seductive. She moved towards a window, cupping her hands around the mug in a bid to put some space between them.

Drink the coffee and get out—before you get lost again.

She marvelled at the life of privilege Zac enjoyed. Although he didn’t give off the air of complacency and entitlement that she’d experienced from others. People like his parents…his mother. Her insides cramped.

‘So…when you say you’re a maid…?’

Zac’s words scattered her guilt and Rose looked at him. She had to bite back a smile at his curious expression. She said dryly, ‘It means that I’m one of those invisible workers who tidies up your world so that when you turn around nothing is out of place.’

He winced. ‘Ouch.’

Rose shrugged. ‘It’s the way it is.’

‘You don’t sound bitter,’ he observed.

She glanced at him again. She wasn’t bitter at all. It had never bothered her that she came from a solidly working-class background. She’d had the love of two parents and knew that that was the most important thing in the world. Which was why she had to save her father…

Rose quickly averted her gaze from that incisive blue one. She felt sick and guilty again. She couldn’t do this.

She put down her cup on a nearby table and straightened and looked at him, steeling herself. But her words dried in her mouth. Zac was looking at her with such searing explicitness that a shiver of anticipation raced through her.

She instructed herself with silent desperation. Say, Thank you for the coffee, but I really should be going. Because I never would have met you in a million years if it hadn’t been for—

And then Zac said, ‘Why do I think that you’re about to bolt, and that if you do I’ll never see you again?’

CHAPTER THREE

ZAC’S WORDS IMPACTED on Rose like a punch in the gut. Because I am, and you won’t. She knew that if she walked out of there right now she wouldn’t see him again, because this had been an exercise in madness.

She’d never in a million years expected to find herself in this situation, and maybe that was why she’d agreed to this extreme plan—because it had never entered her head that it could possibly become a reality.

Yet despite that she was there, and what had sprung to life between them was…unprecedented. It called to all of Rose’s unawakened desires. And she knew that if she wanted—against all the odds—she might quite possibly be able to fulfil the demands of his mother.

But she couldn’t do it.

Not now that she’d met him.

She couldn’t deceive this man and use him in whatever power play was going on with his mother. She had no right. And she should never have been tempted. Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt had appealed to her fear and vulnerability. Her lack of resources. And she’d shamelessly taken advantage of Rose’s father’s ill health to do so.

For a moment Rose had been terrified enough to agree. But now, facing the stark reality of putting the plan into action, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she did. She would have to find another way to try and save her father. Which was what she would have had to do anyway. If she walked out of here right now they would be no worse off than if she hadn’t done this. She’d do anything but play with someone else’s life.

She reiterated more firmly, ‘I have to go.’

Bright blue eyes bored into hers and a hand closed around her upper arm. ‘Why? Give me one good reason.’

Anger spiked in Rose—anger that she was in this predicament with the one man she couldn’t have.

She pulled her arm free. ‘Because I’m not meant to be here.’

‘Says who?’

Rose glared at Zac and the anger bubbling up inside her was projected easily onto his arrogant tone.

She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Not everyone has to bow down to the mighty Zac Valenti.’

Zac’s cheeks flushed with dull colour. ‘I don’t expect everyone to bow down to me.’

But they always will just because of who you are.

That wasn’t fair. Rose’s anger drained away. He was not the object of her ire. He was the object of something else—something much darker and hotter. And if she didn’t get out now… Panic made her jerky as she looked around for her small clutch bag.

She couldn’t see it, and she stopped and took a breath, looked back at Zac. ‘I’m sorry. But I just…really have to go.’

Something in his expression hardened—again that glimpse of a more intimidating side. Intractability.

‘You’re married? You have a lover?’

Shocked, Rose answered with affront. ‘No! Nothing like that.’

Now he folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then tell me, Rose, why do you have to run?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Because it might be approaching midnight, but I don’t think you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes, and you still have both your shoes.’

Something weakened inside Rose—some resistance she was desperately clinging on to. Zac filled her vision, filled every sense with his sheer charisma and masculine allure. And all of it was fixated on her.

She heard herself admitting, ‘I don’t want to leave.’

His stern expression immediately relaxed. He uncrossed his arms and stepped close to her again, cupping her jaw with a hand. ‘Then don’t. Stay, sweet Rose. Stay with me for tonight.’

She looked up into fathoms-deep, clear blue eyes and fell headlong into a dream where she did stay, and spent one beautiful, illicit night with the most exciting man she’d ever met.

A seductive voice whispered over her feverishly hot skin. You can do this if you really want to…take this night and keep it your secret forever.

Just then a shrill sound pierced the thick silence. Rose blinked out of the fantasy being woven in her head and saw Zac’s face tighten with irritation as he plucked a small phone out of his pocket. He looked at the screen and issued a curse.

He glanced at her. ‘I’m sorry, I have to take this for a moment…it’s an important call I’ve been waiting for. But don’t move…’

The phone kept ringing—insistent. Zac was looking at her, commanding her to his will, waiting for her promise that she wouldn’t leave.

Rose finally said, huskily, ‘Okay…’

But as she watched him walk away from her, with that powerful, lithe grace, she knew she’d just uttered a lie. This was her last chance. She had to leave—now.

At least, she told herself as she found her bag and stole out of the apartment, she wouldn’t be adding any further transgressions to her already blackened soul. She wouldn’t be betraying this man.

And she would never see him again.

Her chest grew tight and she bit her lip hard in the lift on her way back down to the ground level—a not so subtle reminder of where she belonged in the world. Not in the lofty heights of fantasy land, but here on the streets, among the millions of other anonymous New Yorkers who never got to taste the rarefied world inhabited by people like Zac Valenti.

Rose left through the main lobby and sent up silent thanks that George, the doorman, appeared to be busy with other residents. He barely spared her a glance.

When she emerged into the street she saw Zac’s car and driver nearby and quickly took off in the other direction, hailing a cab. She knew what she had to do now.

When she returned to the Lyndon-Holt residence, she slipped in through the staff entrance and went straight to the staffroom, where she’d left her own clothes after dressing earlier.

When she’d changed, at the last minute she obeyed a rogue urge, packing up the beautiful sparkly dress, knowing that it was wrong. But it would be the only tangible reminder she would have of a beautiful night with a beautiful man when the possibilities had seemed endless—even if just for a moment.

She crept back out of the house, after leaving a note for Mrs Lyndon-Holt.

I’m sorry, the plan didn’t work.

I’m resigning with immediate effect.

A short while later, on the subway back out to Queens, Rose swayed with the carriage and clutched her bag close on her lap, telling herself that it was ridiculous to feel such a sense of loss. She’d met Zac Valenti and been bathed in the sun of his incredible aura like thousands of other women—for a brief moment.

She was nothing special to him. She’d intrigued him, that was all, with her gauche manners and unsophistication. She was doing the right thing. The only thing she could do. She wanted her father to get better more than anything, but not at the expense of playing with someone else’s life.

A week later Rose was walking home from doing some shopping with her fast-dwindling savings. Luckily she’d got a job working a few hours a week in a local health food store, but she would need other work—and fast—if she was to try and add to their health insurance so her father would be in with a shot to get on a waiting list for the operation he needed.

But that will take months, a small voice reminded her. Months he doesn’t have.

Rose willed down the panic. She could do this. She was young, healthy. Relatively strong. She would work five jobs if she could find them.

She didn’t regret walking away from her job in the Lyndon-Holt house. No way could she face that woman again. She felt tarnished even knowing what she’d agreed to, knowing what she’d almost done.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed the sleek black car crawling beside her and coming to a stop at the same time as she did when she went to cross the road.

A prickling sensation stopped her in her tracks, though, and she looked to see an all too familiar figure emerging from the back of the car, where the door was being held open by a driver.

As if conjured straight out of her thoughts by some nefarious alchemy, Mrs Lyndon-Holt stood resplendent in her designer clothes against the backdrop of the tired Queens street and said superciliously, ‘Won’t you join me in the car, Rose? I think we have some things to discuss.’

Hours later, dressed in a white shirt, black bow tie and knee-length black skirt, with her unruly hair in a neat bun on the top of her head, Rose held a tray of hors d’oeuvres aloft so that guests could help themselves.

Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cold voice still rang in her head. ‘Do I need to remind you that you signed a legal document? I could sue you for breach of contract if you give up now.’

Rose had protested vociferously in the back of the car, to no avail. She’d even tried to convince the woman that Zac had asked her to leave.

The response to that had been, ‘If Zachary isn’t interested in you then why has he spent the week looking for you?’

Rose’s heart had palpitated, and she’d asked shakily, ‘How can you even know that?’

The other woman had waved a hand dismissively. ‘I know everything my son is involved in. Believe me. And he wants you.’

Stupidly, Rose had given herself away by saying, ‘He does?’

Mrs Lyndon-Holt had snapped impatiently, ‘Of course he’s interested, you stupid girl. By running away from him you’ve ensured his interest. Women do not evade Zachary Lyndon-Holt, and my son seems to have found your particular brand of unsophistication intriguing.’

As if Rose needed that reminder.

Her protests that she hadn’t run away as part of an attempt to entice him had fallen on deaf ears. And Mrs Lyndon-Holt had reminded Rose cruelly of her other concerns when she’d said, ‘Don’t forget who you’re doing this for, Rose. Your father. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for your lack of action, does he?’

In the end, the not so subtle threat of legal action and a reminder of why she’d signed the contract in the first place had had Rose reluctantly accepting a note with an address on it and terse instructions from Mrs Lyndon-Holt as to what to wear.

So that was why she was now serving at a buffet luncheon inside one of Manhattan’s most exclusive addresses, which housed one of the world’s most famous private art collections, only on view to a very select few on occasions like this, once or twice a year.

Rose prayed that Zac wouldn’t appear, and assured herself that even if he did he probably wouldn’t even remember her, in spite of what his mother claimed.

But just as she was thinking that a very perceptible hush went around the room and she looked up to see him entering through the main salon door.

The tray nearly tipped out of her hands and she had to cling on for dear life. Her nerves went haywire and her blood sizzled. He was dressed in a dark grey three-piece suit and listening attentively to something the host was saying as he greeted him.

Rose couldn’t breathe. She was suddenly filled with sheer dread that he would turn his head and see her.

On a panicky reflex, she swung around to try and stay out of his line of vision—and crashed straight into another server who was right behind her. Her tray was already unstable in her hands, and Rose watched helplessly as it collided with the other silver platter and they both tipped up and turned end over end, spraying horrified guests nearby with slivers of exotic hors d’oeuvre fillings before crashing to the undoubtedly priceless oriental carpet on the floor.

A deathly silence filled the air.

Zac was trying to appear interested in what the host was saying, but as per usual his mind was elsewhere. Specifically fixated on about five foot seven of elsewhere. A woman with slim curves and strawberry blonde hair. And the face of an angel that inspired distinctly un-angelic thoughts and desires.

He still couldn’t believe she’d actually left that night. After looking at him with those wide green eyes and saying okay. He shouldn’t have taken the call. She’d slipped through his fingers like shimmering quicksilver, impossible to hold onto.

No woman had walked away from Zac. Ever. And while that admittedly did add to the intrigue, the insatiable desire she’d roused inside him was unprecedented. And the need to know more about her. And why the hell hadn’t his team found her yet?

Suddenly there was a loud metallic clatter, and Zac jerked his head around to see two trays spewing their contents and crashing to the floor. At the same moment that he was sending up silent thanks for being released from the attention of his host he was also noticing a very distinctive reddish blonde head of hair near the area of sudden carnage. Tucked up into a bun. Above a long neck.

His insides clenched—hard. It couldn’t be her. But then she turned her head ever so slightly in his direction and he saw a familiar profile. Paler than pale skin…

It was her. Recognition washed over him in a dizzying sweep of heat and relief. Zac was not letting her slip through his fingers again.

Rose had gone cold and clammy, all fingers and thumbs as she tried to gather up the detritus of expensive canapés. The other server hissed at her. ‘What is wrong with you? You’ve probably cost us both our jobs and I need this work.’

Rose’s gut lurched and she looked at the other girl’s blazingly angry expression. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know—’

‘Now,’ an assured and deep voice cut in, ‘I don’t think anyone is going to lose their jobs over a simple accident—are they, Mr Wakefield?’

Rose went still. That voice. Right above her head. His voice. She looked to her left and saw expensively shod feet.

Someone else was saying something brightly—‘Not at all. Please, let’s just move aside and get this cleared up.’—and then Rose felt a hand under her upper arm, curling around it, and she was being urged upwards.

All the way up until she was standing in front of a familiar broad chest. She couldn’t find enough breath to suck into her lungs. She was barely aware of people cleaning up and Zac leading her away from the site of the accident. She was surprised her legs were working; she couldn’t feel them.

He was opening a door and urging her through, into a dark-panelled room full of books. Rose felt as if she was in a dream, and put it down to the fact that she was probably hyperventilating.

‘Are you okay?’

She finally looked up and those blue eyes were even brighter than she remembered. His jaw was clean-shaven. She wanted to touch it. She expected he had to shave twice a day to keep it like this. He’d had stubble that night of the ball—she could remember the slight burn on her skin after they’d kissed.

She nodded. ‘You…you recognise me?’

Zac’s mouth quirked. ‘I met you a week ago, Rose. My memory still functions pretty well. And you were memorable—even if you did run.’

Thankfully the haze cleared from her head. She pulled her arm free and stepped back into the room.

Zac leaned against the door and put his hands in his pockets. As nonchalantly as if he owned the place.

‘You said you’d stay.’ He sounded accusing.

Rose was defensive. ‘I didn’t…exactly. I said, okay. But I knew I had to leave…’

‘Why?’

Rose turned to avoid that incisive gaze. She felt as if she was being torn in two: torn between the part of her that was euphoric to see him again and the part of her that knew it was all a set-up.

She turned back to face him and gestured with a hand to her uniform and practical flat black shoes. ‘Because this is who I am.’ That, at least, was true. ‘I’m not in your league, Mr Valenti, and I think you’re only attracted to me because I’m a bit different.’

Zac straightened from the door, tension in his form. ‘You’re different, all right, and it’s because you outshine any of those other women out there.’

Rose looked at him, helpless against his sheer power to suck her in again. ‘Please, don’t say that. It’s not true.’

He prowled closer, and Rose backed away until she had to stop because there was a wall of books at her back. He crowded her, but she didn’t feel threatened. She felt as if she was unfurling from the inside out. Like a flower blooming in the sun.

‘I thought we’d moved on from Mr Valenti?’

He reached out and with deft fingers undid the bun on the top of her head. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. He sifted through it and Rose felt ridiculously like purring.

‘I prefer it like this…a little wild and untamed.’

Her heart thudded against her breastbone.

Zac’s blue eyes speared her to the spot then. ‘You’re a hard woman to find—do you know that?’

‘You looked for me?’ Rose hadn’t really believed it, and to hear it confirmed, by him, was intoxicating.

He nodded. ‘I couldn’t get you out of my head or forget how you tasted…so sweet.’

Rose struggled not to let her legs turn to jelly and collapse under her. ‘That’s just because I left…you’re not used to women walking away.’

Something flashed in those mesmerising eyes and his mouth became hard. ‘I don’t play games, Rose.’

It took her a second to register that he thought she was saying she’d left on purpose. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t leave just to be a tease. I left because I knew I had to…’

Just as you should leave now—before this goes too far. Again.

‘Why fight this, Rose? The attraction between us is…combustible.’

Zac cupped her jaw with his hand and tipped her chin up. He put his other hand on her hip and lowered that beautiful face to hers. It was combustible, all right, and Rose couldn’t make herself move out of the combustion zone.

His mouth settled on hers and it felt so right. So necessary. So exciting.

After a moment’s hesitation Rose lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. She wanted to arch her body into his and trembled with the effort it took not to do that. She felt Zac’s hum of approval as he gathered her even closer. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her nipples hardening at the contact.

A persistent knocking sound finally broke through the bubble encasing them. Zac pulled back, eyes hot, impatience stamped on his face. He called out, ‘Yes?’

‘Mr Valenti? Mr Wakefield is looking for you.’

Zac cursed quietly, but didn’t take his eyes off Rose. ‘Tell him I have to leave. Something came up. I’ll call him.’

The disembodied voice floated through the door. ‘Very well, sir.’

Zac looked at her for a long moment. ‘I have never wanted a woman the way I want you, Rose.’

Something about the rawness of his tone got to her, and she bit her lip to stop herself from blurting out something similar. Then he took her hand and started to lead her over to another door in the room.

She tried to stop him. ‘Wait—I’m working here. I have to go back outside.’

‘Not any more. You’re coming with me.’

Rose yanked her hand free, panic mixing with excitement at his autocratic tone. ‘Now, wait just a minute. You can’t make me lose my job.’

The fact that she had only been given the job for the day, thanks to whatever strings this man’s mother had pulled, was forgotten in the face of his sheer arrogance.

His jaw hardened. ‘You can go back out there and continue serving, with me hovering over your shoulder, or you can come with me now. And if the job is so damn important I can get you another job anywhere in this city by tomorrow morning.’

Rose just looked at him. Speechless.

He took advantage of it and came closer. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight again. So we can do this the quick way, by leaving now, or the slow way by leaving later. Up to you.’

Rose thought of proving the point by returning to work, but with Zac hovering at her heels she’d drop many more trays before her shift was over, and she’d already drawn enough attention to herself for one day.

As if he knew she was wavering he said, ‘Stop overthinking it. This is simple. I want to get to know you.’

Rose had gone with him. Of course she had. Because she was weak and because she’d wanted to, as much as she feared the malevolence of Mrs Lyndon-Holt and what the future held for her father if she didn’t comply.

She hadn’t been sure what to expect once she’d agreed to leave with him, but Zac had asked his driver to stop in Central Park, and they’d walked through the park, hands linked. They’d talked about inconsequential things, like books, movies and their mutual love of the New York Yankees.

He’d bought them ice-cream from a vendor, and now they sat and looked across the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir as people jogged past.

Rose sneaked him a look, asked, ‘Shouldn’t you be working?’

He tipped his head up to the early-evening sun and closed his eyes, before opening them again and looking at her. He winked. ‘I’m playing hooky.’

Rose’s heart somersaulted in her chest. Never in a million years would she have imagined spending a couple of hours in Zac Valenti’s company like this—as if he was just some regular guy and not one of America’s most talked about billionaires. During the last week she’d seen the latest edition of Forbes magazine on the newsstands, with his picture on the front and the headline: The most powerful new billionaire in America?

Dusk was falling over Manhattan by the time they emerged on the south side of the park, and Rose could see Zac’s building in the distance.

‘I can see your garden from here.’ She pointed up to where the green foliage peeked out over the walls.

When Zac didn’t say anything she looked at him. His tie was undone, top button open. His jacket was hanging off a finger, draped over his shoulder casually. Hair ruffled by the breeze. Rose’s heart squeezed tight. Oh, boy. She was in trouble.

He turned to face her. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s a subway stop right across the street—or I could have my car take you home.’

For a moment Rose’s belly plummeted. He didn’t want her. Not after talking to her and realising how boring she was.

And then he continued, ‘But I don’t want you to go home. I want you to come with me and spend the night with me.’

She reeled at his stark words as illicit relief rushed through her body. Take it or leave it. No games. He wanted her, and he wasn’t going to waste time pretending otherwise. She wished right then that she wasn’t in such a bind, that she could freely accept what Zac was offering with no strings attached. But every which way she moved now the strings were getting tighter and tighter.

She was still deceiving him. With every breath she took.

She pulled her hand free of his and stepped back unsteadily, as if drunk from his mere presence all over again. She shook her head, feeling a rush of burning emotion. ‘I’m sorry… I just can’t.’

Right now she would prefer to risk Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s wrath than betray this man. She took another step, and another. She looked across the road and took advantage of a lull in the traffic to run across.

Heart thudding painfully, she stopped on the other side and looked back at Zac. He cut a powerful and proud figure. Face hard. He wouldn’t chase her again. She knew it. She’d intrigued him for a brief moment—again—but a man like him would soon forget about a maid who kept playing hard to get. And his mother would find someone else to deceive him.

She had to focus on her father—not complicate their lives by potentially becoming pregnant on purpose!

Rose knew there would be no shortage of women who would go all the way with this plan without feeling her angst-ridden turmoil. And suddenly she was angry at that thought—which was ironic, considering that she was the one currently deceiving him!

This was so messed up. She had to go.

She walked with heavy feet to the subway entrance and looked down into the cavernous dark opening. It was dark and cold and dank. She was jostled by rush hour crowds, eager to get home.

She looked across the road again and Zac was still standing there. Vital and bathed in sunlight. Rose had never wanted anything so much as to walk back across to him. She wanted to forget her responsibilities. She wanted to forget the strings. She wanted to pretend that she’d met him by coincidence, exactly as he believed.

She didn’t want to go down into that cold dark hole and never see Zac again.

The fantasy she’d woven in her head for a brief moment that night, when she’d admitted to him she didn’t want to go, just before his phone had rung, beckoned again like a siren call…

You can do this if you want…take what he’s offering and walk away.

She wavered. Could she…really?

Rose knew she couldn’t tell him everything, but what if she was brutally honest about how innocent she was? Surely she’d lose her appeal then? A man used to experienced lovers, he’d hardly relish teaching a novice…

And if he still wanted her even then—her heart beat fast at that prospect—she’d make sure that there would be no pregnancy. He would make sure. After all, wasn’t that exactly what those women in the powder room of that hotel had said? Zac Valenti was the last man to allow himself to be caught in such a way.

Rose turned against the tide of people rushing around her. As if sensing her capitulation from across the road Zac came towards her, like a panther intent on his prey. His eyes were locked onto hers until he was standing in front of her.

A silent communication passed between them. Are you sure? No more games.

And from the deepest part of her came just one word as she put her hand in his: Yes.

Zac felt euphoric. He felt reckless. Out of his comfort zone. As if he was going slightly crazy.

Since when had he ever taken a notion to walk across Central Park in the afternoon, to hold a woman’s hand? Or to stop and buy ice-cream? Or to take time out from work. Something he hadn’t done in…ever.

But from the moment he’d seen Rose again in that room his brain had ceased functioning normally.

The only thing stopping him from slamming a hand on the ‘Stop’ button of his private elevator right now and lifting her against the wall with her legs wrapped around his waist, so he could take her right here, was the tiniest sliver of control that reminded him he was a civilised man and not an animal.

It was the only thing that had held him back from cursing when she’d pulled away and crossed the road just a short while before. But then she’d stood at the entrance of that subway, looking into it as if it held some answer…and she hadn’t moved. And she’d looked across at him and her hunger and yearning had been palpable.

He’d wanted to howl in triumph. Because he’d known then that this mysterious, fey woman who had bewitched his body and mind was going to be his. He would get her mysterious pull out of his system and put it behind him.

This last week had shown him that he was more at the mercy of his hormones than he’d like to admit. For a man who had always felt in control of his life—even when it had spun in a completely unexpected direction—it was a disturbing sensation. He didn’t equate women with hormones or this craving need.

He came from a world where logic ruled. Where emotions showed up weaknesses. From a young age, his life was lived by a strict code of rules. Even if he thought he’d thrown all that out of the window, he hadn’t really. He just lived by a different set of rules now.

If anything had demonstrated to him that emotions out of control spelled doom, his own parents’ legacy had. Their lives—and his—had been ruined by reckless passion. And while he wanted to avenge them above anything else, he also wanted to prove that he could control himself. That his life wouldn’t be derailed as theirs had been.

Rose held him momentarily in thrall, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t trust it. So the sooner he could exorcise it, the better. And this was just the start.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZAC’S APARTMENT WAS subtly different from the other night as the setting sun bathed it in a golden light. Rose was breathing too rapidly and forced herself to slow down. She’d taken her hand out of Zac’s when they’d come into the apartment and walked over to one of the windows, suddenly jittery. Suddenly wondering again if she was being completely crazy—not to mention selfish.

She looked out and put a hand on the glass, as if that might help to anchor her in this fantastical space. He came to stand beside her and the air quivered between them. That damned breathlessness was back, along with a spurt of panic.

What was she doing here?

She gabbled words to try and fill the weighted silence. ‘It’s so beautiful up here. You’re very lucky.’

Zac’s voice was deep and low beside her. ‘I know how beautiful it is and, believe me, I know how lucky I am.’

She finally looked at him and he was leaning with his back against the glass, which suddenly looked totally flimsy to Rose. He’d removed his tie and taken off his waistcoat, and was staring at her assessingly.

She felt acutely self-conscious. She wore only a minimum amount of make-up, which had probably melted off by now, making her face shiny. Her hair was down and messy, thanks to him. She wore the blandest of clothes. As opposite as she could be from the woman he’d met a week ago.

Unbidden, she asked helplessly, ‘Why do you want me?’

His eyes rose from where they’d been making a lazy appraisal of her body and met hers, piercingly blue. ‘Because you’re more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.’

‘I’m not—really I’m not…’ Rose ducked her head and her hair slipped forward, covering her face.

Zac pushed it back behind one ear and tipped her face up with a finger under her chin. She couldn’t look anywhere but at him. He was standing in front of her now.

‘Yes, you are, Rose. And I want you because of that and also because I won’t be able to think again until I have you.’

She could feel herself slipping down a rabbit hole, with nothing to grab on to at the sides. Except for Zac.

He moved closer and closer, until their bodies were touching and she was drowning in his scent. She grabbed his shirt in order to stay standing, trying not to fall down the hole completely. And then he lowered his head and her world was reduced to this: yes.

His kisses were like nectar—but with a darkness that called to some alien dark part of her. That was why she was really there. She was weak and she wanted to taste the forbidden too much.

She moaned with a kind of angry self-despair into Zac’s mouth and he clearly took that as encouragement, sliding his tongue deep, dancing and duelling with hers. The kiss turned deeper and more lustful.

Zac’s hand dropped to her waist, and then further. He squeezed one buttock through the material of her skirt, his hand easily encompassing the firm flesh.

Rose ripped her mouth away, unable to think how to do more than one thing at once any more. She rested her forehead against his neck, breathing rapidly. Zac moved back slightly, but only so he could bring her over to a nearby couch. He sat down and on jelly legs Rose followed him, falling into his arms, sprawling across his lap.

She tried to sit up but he wouldn’t let her, saying, ‘I like you like this.’

Rose just looked at him, and he kissed her again, and she forgot to protest. He was smoothing a hand down over her chest, cupping a breast, squeezing gently. She gasped into his mouth.

And then his hand was untucking her shirt from her skirt so he could explore underneath, touching her skin, moving higher, cupping her breast again more intimately, finding her nipple under its lace covering and pinching it gently.

Rose tore her mouth from his again and looked at him, feeling feverish. Zac pulled down the lace of her bra and now his hand was on her bared breast. He looked feral, hungry.

‘Undo the buttons of your shirt. I want to see you.’

With shaking hands she did his bidding, like some kind of wanton robot. Her shirt fell open and Zac looked down. Colour scored his cheeks.

He muttered, ‘Just how I imagined…beautiful.’ And then he lowered his head and kissed her breast, tasting the hard bud of her nipple, licking the pouting flesh and sucking it into his mouth like a succulent morsel.

Zac bared her other breast and anointed that one with his hot mouth and rough tongue. She had to press her thighs together to try and contain the building tension deep in her core.

But, like a mind-reader, Zac was sliding his hand between her thighs now, forcing her to part them for him. She looked at him again, aware that her shirt was wide open, her breasts bared and upthrust, framed by her bra.

He pressed against her sex through her underwear. Fingers exploring, sliding up and down. One of Rose’s hands gripped his arm, as if that might keep her anchored. She couldn’t believe she was behaving so wantonly, letting him touch her so intimately, urging her to fall over a precipice that she’d only explored by herself before now.

But she couldn’t find a voice to tell him to stop.

Zac pushed the gusset of her underwear aside and then he was touching her with expert precision, knowing exactly where she ached. Rose bit her lip. He kept looking at her as his fingers slipped through her slick folds, unlocking all her secrets, and then dipped inside her…gently at first and then with increasing pressure as he forged a deeper and deeper passage, rhythmically, remorselessly.

His thumb massaged her clitoris, and Rose tried valiantly to cling on to control of her own body, but it was impossible. She came apart in his arms, head thrown back as all her muscles locked tight. She could feel herself clenching and shuddering, completely defenceless against such a rush of pleasure.

It seemed to take an aeon for her to come back to earth, floating on a cloud of satisfaction she’d never experienced before. She lifted her heavy head, feeling dazed.

Zac was still looking at her, and he said with a touch of sensual approval, ‘You’re so responsive.’

And then Rose saw herself as he did—bared from the waist up and from the waist down. Legs spread. She went hot all over—hot with mortification. They’d been in the apartment for mere minutes and she was already writhing and moaning on his lap—a million miles from the sophisticated responses he was undoubtedly used to.

She scrambled free of his embrace and moved to the end of the couch, tugging her skirt down and pulling her shirt back together. She knew her legs wouldn’t hold her up without shaking.

Zac sat up. ‘Rose…what is it?’

She didn’t hear him. She was berating herself. She should have told him the truth before now. Hadn’t that been part of the bargain she’d made to herself to justify coming here with him? But she’d forgotten in the heat of the moment. She was meant to be trying to put him off—not lead him on.

‘Rose?’

Her whirling thoughts came to an abrupt halt and she looked at Zac, who was beside her now. Stubble was already marking his jawline. His hair flopped forward and the strong lines of his face were breathtakingly distracting, even now.

‘There’s something you need to know,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘I’m a virgin.’

Zac struggled to understand through the fog of lust clouding his brain. ‘What did you say?’

Her cheeks coloured dark red, and she said it again—starkly. ‘I’m a virgin.’

For the longest moment he could only look at her. She might as well have said that there was a unicorn on the other side of the room—that was how little he could understand what she was saying. Then her words slowly impacted and he thought of how responsive she’d just been, and he noticed how she was holding her clothes together…

He suddenly needed space. He stood up and asked a little hoarsely, ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-two.’

Zac shook his head, as if it might encourage his brain cells to start working properly again. ‘And you’ve never…?’

Rose stood now too, arms crossed over her shirt to try and hold it together. Her skirt was still ruched up over her thighs. She looked dishevelled…undone. Sexy as hell. And he could see that she didn’t have a clue how alluring she was.

Something inside him tightened.

She avoided his eyes. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend—not like that. I never wanted to have sex with anyone… It’s just me and my father at home. He found it hard to cope after my mother died, so I never went out much…’

The tightening sensation in his chest increased and Zac reeled as this revelation of her innocence sank in fully. It struck him powerfully—especially after all the secrets and lies he’d found in his own family. The tragedy that had ensued as a result of them.

He knew he should be sending her away. He didn’t do virgins. Just as he didn’t do relationships. He was from a world that had stripped away any illusion that innocence or happy families existed a long time ago… And yet he found that he couldn’t make himself do what he knew he should.

He moved closer to Rose and reached out and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up. As soon as their gazes met he knew that he was not letting her go. In spite of her innocence. He wanted to claim her for himself with a fierceness that shook him.

‘You said you’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone…do you now?’

After a long moment that had all Zac’s nerves stretched taut enough to snap, Rose nodded.

Honesty was something he prized now, above almost anything else, and right at that moment this woman in front of him stood for something he’d never experienced before. A kind of purity.

He closed the gap between them and pulled her closer, his thumb sliding across skin as soft as a rose petal. She’d been named well.

She looked at him, something swirling in those big green eyes. ‘You’re not…sending me away?’

The thought made Zac feel feral. He hid it. ‘Why would I do that?’

She swallowed. ‘Because I’m not experienced.’

Her expression of bravado mixed with something much more vulnerable made him feel inordinately protective. He shook his head. ‘No way, sweet Rose. You’re not going anywhere.’

Her eyes flared at that. She was hungry for him. And he was ravenous—even more so now.

He reached for her hand to lead her into his bedroom before he took her on the floor like an animal, but she squeezed his hand and he stopped to look at her. She was pale now…worried.

‘I’m not…on the pill. You need to protect us.’

Relief made Zac’s chest expand. For a moment he’d been afraid she’d changed her mind. But she was concerned about protection. And so was he. Zealously so. This should be the least of her worries.

He slid a hand around to the back of her head, under her hair, and pressed his mouth to hers. Already his body was responding with a carnal hunger that he knew wouldn’t wait.

He pulled back. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we’re protected—believe me.’

Her concern only made her honesty even more pronounced. Zac knew well that if she was more experienced she might see the knots he was tied in and take advantage of that. But she wasn’t.

He led her into his bedroom, anticipation coiling in his gut like a living thing. There was something incredibly raw and visceral about knowing that no other man had touched this woman. That he would be the first to mark her…brand her. She would be indelibly his.

He shook his head faintly, as if to try and dislodge these uncharacteristically primal flights of fancy. He associated animalistic feelings with the boardroom. Not the bedroom. Or he had up till now.

He let Rose’s hand go and turned to face her at the foot of his bed. Her eyes were huge. Her mouth was still swollen from his kisses. The hard tips of her breasts were evident under the material of her shirt.

He had to exert control. She was innocent. He was almost afraid to touch her. Not sure if he could control himself. He uttered a silent curse. He’d never felt on edge like this before.

‘Take off my shirt.’

When she moved forward her own shirt opened more, and the tantalising curves of her bare breasts were visible through the open material.

He had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out. And then she was grappling with his buttons, painstakingly slowly, undoing them one by one. Her fingers brushed against his hot skin in tantalisingly fleeting caresses.

Zac gritted his jaw. When he saw the tip of her tongue dart out, and the way she bit her lower lip in concentration, a bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. Her small hands were near his belt now, and he couldn’t stand it any more. He took her hands in his and lifted them up, pressing a kiss to the centre of each palm.

Something in his chest squeezed tight again when he felt the slight roughness that told of her menial work. He felt incensed that she should have to do this, and hated himself in that moment for having always been with women who spent more money on their manicures than Rose probably saw in a year.

He dropped her hands and let them go, then yanked his shirt out of his trousers, pulling it off and letting it drop to the ground.

Her eyes were on his chest, wide and intent. Her cheeks flushed with colour. He could see her clench one hand into a fist, as if to stop herself from touching him, and he reached for it and brought it up, uncurling her fingers and placing it in the centre of his chest.

Her touch was cool, but it burned hotter than the most seductive caress. She looked up at him and he took his hand away, and hesitantly she started to explore. Tracing the muscles under his skin. When her nail scraped a nipple he sucked in a breath and his erection jerked in his pants. He’d never known how sensitive he was there.

‘Did I hurt you?’

He shook his head and marvelled at the genuinely concerned look on her face. ‘No—the opposite.’

The flush on her face deepened. Her hands were drifting down now, over his abdomen and lower. She was going to kill him. She reached for his belt and looked up, as if asking for permission.

He just nodded. Rendered speechless.

She undid it and then opened the button above the zip. Zac felt almost embarrassed at the prominent bulge in his pants.

Rose’s head was down, her bright hair falling forward. Wilder than the other night, it was the most unusual colour. Blonde but with russet tones. He wondered if the unusual colour was natural. He would know for sure when he saw—

He stifled a gasp of pure pleasure/pain. She was lowering his zip now, her knuckles brushing against the swell of his arousal.

She looked up again and he gently took her hands away, muttering, ‘I won’t last if you keep touching me like that.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Zac shook his head and cupped her jaw, tipping her face up. How could she not know what she was doing to him? Because she was innocent.

He grimaced slightly. ‘Don’t be.’

He let her go again to pull down his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. He stepped out of them and said, ‘I want to see you.’

She bit her lip again for a moment and then brought her hands to her shirt, peeling it off slowly until it fell to the ground. Her breasts were still bared, and erotically upthrust by the underwired frame of her bra. Zac marvelled that he’d seen far more debauched states of undress on women, but this was possibly the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced.

She brought her hands behind her and undid her bra, and it too fell to the ground. Her high, perfectly formed breasts were now bared completely to his ravenous gaze. A small, hard, pink nipple topped each one. The darker pink of her areolae was puckered. His mouth watered. He wanted to taste them again.

She brought her arms up to cover herself. Gently he pulled them down.

‘You are beautiful.’

‘No one’s ever seen me like this before.’

Blood thrummed in Zac’s body at this further confirmation that he was the first man who would know her intimately. He ignored the tiny dim cynical voice that mocked him for being so easily entranced. He was losing it.

‘Thank you for trusting me.’

Something flashed in her eyes then, but it was gone so quickly he thought he must have imagined it. Because it had almost looked like guilt. And why would she be guilty?

Rose undid her skirt and pushed it over her hips, and then she was standing in front of him in nothing but sensible white underwear—which, again, seemed to Zac to be the height of eroticism after years of seeing women parade in front of him in all sorts of complicated diaphanous concoctions.

Words and thoughts fused into white heat. She was all long, slim limbs and pale skin. Delicate curves. High waist. Freckles dusting her upper arms and her chest.

Curbing the beast inside him, Zac took her hand and led her over to the bed. ‘Lie down, sweetheart.’ The endearment tripped easily off his tongue, when he was usually much more circumspect. But he hardly noticed.

She sat on the bed and scooted back, her breasts bouncing with her movement. Zac yanked down his underwear and kicked it off, watching how Rose stopped, her eyes fixated on him. He brought a hand to himself, as if that might calm the heat a little, but her eyes widened and he could feel a drop of moisture dewing the head of his erection.

He reached for the protection he kept in a drawer nearby. He’d never had to have it ready like this before. Almost as if he might forget. Rose tracked his movements as she sat on her hands on the bed, legs tightly together, drawn up.

‘Lie back.’

Slowly she lay down, eyes still on him, hair around her head like a cloud of red-gold. He came down alongside her on the massive bed, very aware of how dark his skin was next to hers.

He put a hand on her belly, stretched it out, almost encompassing all of it with the span. Her muscles jerked against him.

‘I’m going to make this good for you…but it might hurt a little at first. Just trust me, okay?’

She nodded jerkily. He dipped his head and kissed her, long and luxuriously, drawing her as close to his body as he could without exploding. She was soft and silky, but quivering like a taut bow under his touch.

She gave herself to him with sweetly innocent abandon, but then suddenly drew back, going tense. She looked over his shoulder at the huge windows in his room. ‘Won’t people be able to see in?’

Zac recalled how one of his previous lovers had specifically wanted him to make love to her up against the glass, for that very reason. It left a bitter taste in his mouth now.

‘No, it’s specially tinted glass…’

‘Oh…okay.’

She relaxed against him again and Zac smoothed a hand down from her neck to her breast, cupping it and squeezing the firm flesh, seeing how her nipple protruded like a sharp berry. Her breathing quickened—an untutored and totally sexy response. Zac prided himself on being a good lover, but right now he felt as if everything he knew was unravelling.

He bent and put his mouth to Rose’s sweet offering, lights exploding behind his eyes as he ran his tongue over her tight flesh and then sucked it into his mouth. He could feast on her breasts for days, he thought, his erection growing even harder at the sounds of her soft, breathy moans and the way her hands found his head and her fingers tightened in his hair.

He slid the hand on her belly down to where her legs were pressed tight together. Gently he encouraged her to relax them, and she opened up. The musky smell of her arousal hit his nostrils and he had to lift his head for a second to clear it.

Her hands were still in his hair and she was looking up at him, flushed and dazed, green eyes huge. Mouth plump and pink. The tips of her breasts wet from his mouth.

His penis twitched at her look and he knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer. He explored through the soft curls that hid the seam of her body and he almost groaned aloud when he felt how plumped and wet she was. Ready for him again.

He looked down as he efficiently pulled off her underwear. Soft golden curls hid her sex, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to taste her. He moved down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders.

She lifted her head, eyes wide. ‘Zac…?’

He just said, ‘Shh, lie back.’

She did, and he pressed kisses to her soft inner thighs before exploring her more intimately. Her smell was more intoxicating than the most expensive perfume in the world. He licked his way through her secret folds and thrust his tongue into that tight channel.

Her hands were on his head, fingers digging in painfully, but not even that could distract him. He was getting drunk on her, flicking her clitoris, then thrusting deep again, fighting the urge to grind his hips to the bed and find his own relief.

She was pushing her body at him now and he reached up a hand to cup her breast, squeezing it hard just as she came—her body convulsing as powerfully as it had before.

A fractured thought occurred to him that he could never lose his hunger for this woman and her swift responses, but it was drowned out by his need to bury himself inside her or go mad.

He reared up to see a dreamy smile on her face. Perspiration sheened her skin, making it even more luminous.

Sheathing himself with the protection, Zac positioned himself between her legs. ‘Ready?’ He sounded coarse, guttural. Desperate.

She nodded, still looking a little drugged. He slid in carefully, just the head breaching her body first. She was still slick, but tight.

Her hands came to his arms, holding tight. ‘I’m okay…keep going.’

Zac reached under her body and shifted her slightly, coming up on his knees, widening her thighs even further. She gasped as he slid in a little more. He wrapped her legs around his hips.

He bent over her and put his mouth on hers, sucking her tongue deep, and then he thrust again…hard. He swallowed her gasp and met it with a rough gasp of his own. He was embedded deep in her hot, tight embrace.

He drew back. She was panting, nails digging into his muscles. His insides curdled when he saw how pale she was. ‘Are you okay?’

She took a minute and then nodded. ‘I…I think so.’

Zac reached down between them and found her sensitised bud. He massaged her gently, feeling a quiver of reaction along his length. He gritted his jaw, trying to stay in control of his bodily functions when all he wanted to do was pull out and thrust back in so hard and deep he’d see stars for a week.

He moved slowly, inexorably, out and then in again, feeling Rose’s body relax its tighter-than-tight grip. Testosterone flooded him at the thought that he was the first man to experience this with her.

His arms wrapped tight around her as his powerful body struck up a rhythm, moving in and out. Any last vestiges of control were fast fraying at the edges as Rose’s body responded, her legs squeezing tighter around him. Her nipples scraped against his chest.

And then, when her hips started to circle in small movements, he couldn’t hold on. He thrust deep and long inside her, and somehow—miraculously—felt the telltale contractions of her own climax squeezing him just before he tipped over into a place of extreme pleasure so intense that he was aware of nothing for long moments but the frantic beating of his heart.

When he finally floated back to earth he realised he was crushing Rose into the bed, his body heavy on hers. His head was locked into the space between her neck and shoulder. Little weak pulsations rippled along his length every few seconds. His body responded. He raised his head to look down incredulously. Sex had never had this effect on him before.

Rose’s head was turned to the side; her eyes were closed. She was no longer holding his arms and something cold gripped him, dousing his desire. He pulled free of her body and saw her wince slightly.

He’d felt her body react—he’d been sure she’d been okay… But had he taken his pleasure with no regard for her well-being? He moved down beside her and saw her legs close together—saw also the telltale sign of blood on his sheets. He felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut.

He pulled up a sheet, covering her body. His voice sounded unbearably rough to his ears. ‘Rose…are you okay? Did I hurt you?’

Rose knew she couldn’t avoid Zac’s question forever. She could feel the weight of his gaze almost as tangibly as she’d felt the weight of his body. Deliciously. Surrounding her with his musky heat and hard muscles. Until a few moments ago he’d been inside her, a heavy thick weight. Still hard.

Slowly she turned to face him and saw his eyes widen with shock as he reared back.

‘You’re crying. I hurt you—but I thought—’

She hadn’t even realised till then that she was crying, but she shook her head and wiped at a tear, feeling raw and exposed. ‘No…’ When she saw the blatant disbelief on his face and the start of something like self-recrimination, she came up on one arm, the sheet slipping down. ‘No. You didn’t hurt me.’ Her voice felt rough. Different.

He shook his head. ‘Then…?’

Rose had never been so comprehensively laid bare, so she said honestly, ‘I never knew it could be like that. It was…beautiful.’

She winced inwardly. ‘Beautiful’ was an ineffectual word for what had just happened. It had been brutal, searing…pain and pleasure all bound up in pure sensation and incandescence. And pleasure like she’d never known. Too much, surely?

Zac reached out and touched her jaw as if she might break. ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded, turning her face into his hand, breathing him in deep. She looked back. ‘At first…when you…’ She blushed, stupidly. ‘It hurt. But it didn’t last…it became something else.’

Zac came down on his back and pulled Rose with him so she half fell across his chest, hair tumbling around her shoulders, breasts pressed against him. She thought of his mouth between her legs and blushed all over again.

He touched her burning cheek and half smiled, ‘What are you thinking of?’

She ducked her head, embarrassed by how hungry she was for him again—already. In spite of tender muscles. ‘Nothing.’

‘Liar,’ he said. and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Her gut curdled. The truth was that this whole evening was a lie. But at least he used protection, she thought with relief, recalling all too easily how those big hands had deftly rolled the latex over his impressive erection.

And then Zac was pressing her closer and saying, ‘Rest now.’

She knew that this was it—her time was up and she should leave—but her body was so full and heavy with a delicious afterglow that she just…clung to the dream for a little longer and slept.

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN ZAC WOKE up his body felt uncharacteristically heavy, and yet lighter than it had ever felt. He frowned, his eyes still closed. It was such an unusual sensation. He was aware that his penis also felt heavy, yet sated. His whole body ached in a way he’d never experienced before.

A vague thought occurred to him: was he sick?

And then a very distinctive feminine scent caught at his nostrils and he was suddenly wide awake. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t sick. Rose. Sweet Rose…opening up to him with such abandon. And just like that his body was no longer heavy—it was waking up. Stirring.

A kaleidoscope of images crashed through his brain—firm breasts topped by small sharp nipples, pale slim thighs parting for him. His tongue tasting her sweet essence, feeling her muscles tighten around him, rose-gold hair, green eyes… Sliding into tight, slick heat…so tight he’d thought he might die.

Virgin. His.

He lifted his head and looked around his room, aware of the morning sun streaming in the windows. He never normally slept much beyond dawn, so this was disconcerting.

The bed beside him was empty, but the sheets were crumpled and her scent lingered. He hadn’t dreamed it. But then, disconcertingly, slivers of a dream came back to him: her bottom tucked into the cradle of his body, her turning, lifting her face, angling herself so that he slipped between her legs…

He’d notched himself inside her, hearing her gasp… There were snippets and fragments of hushed whispers… ‘Are you too sore?’

She’d shaken her head, eyes glittering green. ‘No, keep going…’

And so Zac had, thrusting harder and deeper, one hand clamped around her breast, his other hand finding the juncture between her legs, close to where he surged in and out, touching her there and coming apart as she’d milked him so powerfully he’d stopped breathing…

Zac frowned. He hadn’t used protection in the dream, and he would never not use protection, so it couldn’t have been real. Even so, the back of his neck prickled… It felt as if it had been real.

And where was she now? He got up and pulled on some old sweats and went through his apartment after checking the bathroom. There was no sign of the woman who had spent the night in his bed. Or any indication that she’d used the bathroom.

The thought of her somewhere…with his scent on her body and the markings of their lovemaking on her pale skin…was enough to make his body go hard in an instant. Zac scowled. Where the hell was she?

But the apartment was empty. Silent. She was gone. Again. He felt deflated. A novel sensation for a man who usually left women in his wake. That prickling sensation was back. His apartment looked untouched… Hell, was he so desperate for a connection that felt real that he’d dreamt it all up? Had some crazy erotic fantasy?

But his gut told him that it had been real. His body was too heavy with sensual satisfaction for it to have been a mere erotic dream. Still…he doubted himself. He padded back through to the bedroom, not even sure what he was looking for until he saw it: the unmistakable mark of her blood on his sheets.

So it had been real. She was real.

He turned to face his windows. He didn’t like it that she kept running away. It made him feel off-balance, exposed somehow…as if she knew something he didn’t. As if he’d been caught out.

Zac looked out over the city, glinting in the early-morning sunlight. She was out there somewhere. He would find her… He would be successful this time. And then he would see that she was not some ethereal, mysterious creature who’d scrambled his brain to pieces—twice. And he would get her out of his system, like every other woman he slept with.

Because women like Rose Murphy didn’t really exist. They just didn’t.

In spite of Zac’s best efforts he didn’t find her. Not a week after she’d left, or a month, nor two months. It had now been four months since he’d had her in his bed and his body still burned for her. Only her. All other women left him cold.

It was exposing, infuriating and it reminded him uncomfortably of the repercussions of the passion that had burnt between his parents, which had ultimately led to their destruction and a life of secrets and lies for him, growing up in a gilded prison with two severe and unloving caretakers.

A knock sounded on his office door, and he turned from where he was looking out over the downtown Manhattan view with a brooding glower. ‘Yes?’

His executive assistant came in, looking grim. ‘We’ve got her, Zac. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.’

The feelings jostling for space in Zac’s chest were nearly overpowered by the surge of heat in his blood. And then he frowned. ‘What do you mean, I’m not going to like it?’

The younger man put one of New York’s most popular newspapers down on Zac’s desk, face up. A screaming headline proclaimed: Real-life Maid in Manhattan scores the Lyndon-Holt jackpot with pregnancy!

And underneath the headline was a picture of Rose… O’Malley, not Murphy…looking wild-eyed and hunted. Hair scraped back.

He assessed the situation in an instant as an icy weight slammed into his gut. One word exploded in his head: Fool. Fool. Fool.

He was right to have believed women like her didn’t exist—because clearly they didn’t. He skim-read the article, taking in the fact that she’d worked for his grandmother as a maid in his family home. Something dark lodged in his gut. He should have recognised his grandmother’s handiwork. She had not been without the help of a willing accomplice, though…

The darkness spread like a seeping poison into the blood in his veins. He didn’t look up from the paper. He was afraid to move in case he exploded into pieces. He just said, with a quiet, controlled tone that belied his growing rage, ‘Find her and bring her to me. Now.’

Rose sat in the back of the chauffeur-driven car as they crossed the bridge onto the island of Manhattan. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice when that scarily taciturn man had turned up at her place of work and said, ‘I’m here to take you to Mr Valenti.’

She’d known that this meeting was inevitable. She guessed she’d known it as soon as she’d had the confirmation of her pregnancy about two months ago.

And, if she was completely honest with herself, she’d known far sooner than that—because they’d made love again that night, in the half-light of the moon, in the hazy, dreamlike moments between sleeping and waking.

Rose might have believed it to have been a dream if it hadn’t been for the indelible memory of the pulsing strength of Zac’s climax inside her. When she’d woken again as dawn had been breaking, she’d weakly tried to convince herself that it had just been a dream.

But it hadn’t.

And, as terrified as she’d been to contemplate the fact that the night would have repercussions, she’d also felt an immediately fierce sense of acceptance and protectiveness for her unborn child—even before she’d missed her first period and her fears had become real.

Still, it had taken all of her guts and courage to go and have the pregnancy confirmed, because she’d had a very strong sense of foreboding that as soon as someone else knew about it she would be putting her child in some kind of perilous danger.

At no point—even when the pregnancy had been confirmed—had it occurred to her to go and tell Mrs Lyndon-Holt. Her only thought had been how she would eventually tell Zac. The fact that she now possibly had a way to save her father was something she hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate, because she had known she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she used her unborn child as some kind of bargaining chip…and her father would never want his own flesh and blood used in that way either.

It had brought home to her just how distraught she’d been even to consider that this might be a solution to her problems in the first place.

But she hadn’t had to worry about going to see Mrs Lyndon-Holt because the woman had ambushed Rose. Just as she had before, and just when Rose had finally felt she was off the woman’s radar after not seeing her in months.

Far from not being on the woman’s radar, Rose discovered she had been very much on it. She hadn’t figured on the ruthlessness of the woman, or her vast influence. And now everything had been taken out of her hands in the worst way possible.

In the back of that same sleek black limousine, parked on a quiet Queens street, Mrs Lyndon-Holt had swiped through photo after photo on a sleek tablet. The pictures had documented Rose and Zac leaving that luncheon function and walking through Central Park. They had shown the moments by the subway, when Rose had obviously made her fateful decision to stay. And then they’d shown her leaving his apartment the following morning as dawn had broken, looking dishevelled and with a mortifyingly dreamy and wistful look on her face. Wistful because she’d believed she’d never see him again.

There was no need for any photos of what had happened in the intervening hours. It was glaringly obvious.

And since then her every move had been followed. Mrs Lyndon-Holt had merely waited until Rose had passed the danger zone of early pregnancy before pouncing.

When Rose had tried to get out of the car the woman had restrained her with a brittle but surprisingly strong hand. Rose had looked back at her, feeling numb all over.

‘Are you forgetting so easily about your payment?’

Rose had answered with a coolness that had belied the fear she’d felt, ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

The other woman had just smiled malevolently. ‘Perhaps not you or the baby right now—but your father could do with some help, couldn’t he? Or are you just going to let him die, knowing that you could have saved him if it wasn’t for your stubborn pride? Do I need to remind you that you signed a non-disclosure agreement? Which means you can never tell anyone about what we agreed? And don’t for a second think that my son will welcome this news. It’s common knowledge that he has no desire for a child. So you see, Rose, I’m really all the hope and support you have right now. All I have to do is make one call and your father will have a chance to live to be a very old man.’

Rose had gone hot and then cold all over. As if she needed to be reminded of that conversation she’d overheard in the bathroom that fateful night. Zac Valenti was the last person she could turn to.

And her father…

Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt was right in some sick way—how could Rose live with herself, knowing she’d denied her father a chance to be well again?

A sense of futility had sunk deep into the pit of her being. And the realisation that through her own choices and actions she was now trapped—for better or worse.

And just like that, without having to say another word, Mrs Lyndon-Holt had had Rose exactly where she wanted her.

With ruthless precision, Rose’s father had been transported to an upstate specialised medical facility, where he was due to undergo the preparation required before he had a potentially life-saving and prohibitively expensive operation in a couple of weeks. He’d believed the explanation that Rose had given him: that it was down to the fact that Mrs Lyndon-Holt felt charitable towards an ex-employee. Rose’s insides had curdled at the deceit.

She stared out of the car window now, dry-eyed but aching inside. A kind of resolve had solidified inside her once she’d realised she had to see this thing through.

She had been unutterably selfish, believing she could take something that should never have belonged to her— a night with Zac Valenti—and now she had to face the consequences of her actions. And if her father was the one who might profit from it all by regaining his health, then that would have to be the thing that would make this worthwhile.

That and the new life growing in her belly. A life that she would never regret making, no matter what happened from this moment on. Whether or not her child did inherit a vast fortune was neither here nor there, because Rose had never set out to profit personally from the agreement with Zac’s mother, no matter what she’d signed.

But she couldn’t blame someone else for her own actions.

She just knew she would lay down her own life to protect her baby from any harm, and she vowed now that he or she would not suffer because of her actions, whatever she had to do to ensure that.

Zac’s building appeared ahead, and the car drew to a smooth halt by the sidewalk. ‘Valenti Enterprises’ was written in stark black letters across the steel structure. Bold, uncompromising. Powerful.

Rose shivered.

She’d walked away from Zac in his bed that morning and had taken one last illicit look as he’d lain there like a fallen god, the sheet tangled around his lower body, seductively low enough to give a glimpse of the hair arrowing down between his legs to all that potent masculinity that had sent her into orbit.

It had been a wrench to tear her gaze from him, and an even bigger wrench to walk away, expecting never to see him again. Expecting to hold that night in her memory like a perfect precious secret.

But now there was no hope of it staying perfect or precious or secret. It had been shattered to pieces and she had no one to blame but herself.

The journey up to Zac’s office seemed to take a nanosecond. Rose had barely had time to recognise the irony of the fact that time sped up when you least wanted it to, when a smartly dressed young man was opening a huge door and ushering her into a vast office.

She saw him immediately, which caused her to stumble to a stop barely inside the door. Zac was sitting behind a big solid wooden desk. She hardly heard the door close behind her with a soft click. His chair was high-backed. All the furniture was big…imposing. He looked bigger than she remembered, even though he was sitting down.

He wore a white shirt, open at the throat. Stubble shadowed that firm jaw and his hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

And then he stood up and her brain froze. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning forward slightly. Rose had the uncomfortable sensation that he was deliberately keeping his desk between them.

Those bluer-than-blue eyes raked her up and down. His lip curled. ‘Do you think you can fool me with another demure outfit, Ms O’Malley?’

Ms O’Malley. Rose’s heart had slowed to a thump-thump of shock and guilt and misery. Of course he knew her real name now. She felt very self-conscious in plain black trousers and the white shirt that she wore for her work at a small local restaurant in Queens—one of the three jobs she’d been juggling. Her hair was up in a functional ponytail. No make-up.

Heat prickled up her neck and she gripped her handbag tighter in her hands, in front of her belly. ‘I’m not trying to fool anyone.’

Her voice came out strong and she sent up silent thanks. She was determined not to let him see how hard this was for her. All she wanted to do was apologise, try to explain. Except she couldn’t explain. And the opportunity for any apology had long since passed.

Zac made a rude sound. Then he straightened up and came around the table, and all of Rose’s dormant hormones started fizzing and jumping, oblivious to the waves of animosity coming from him across the room. He rested back against the desk and crossed one long leg over the other. And folded his arms.

Rose had had tiny glimpses of this remote man, and they had been downright intimidating. Right now he might as well be a complete stranger, so far removed was he from the seductive man who had bewitched her so easily.

Zac’s face seemed to get harder, and his mouth compressed, as if he was recalling something distasteful. ‘So, I’m curious…what’s the going rate for a virginal prostitute these days?’ And then he said, ‘That’s assuming you were actually a virgin? The blood was an ingeniously authentic touch if you weren’t.’

His crude words shredded Rose inside. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She begged silently, Please don’t ruin it.

Zac stood up and said icily. ‘That’s exactly what it was like.’

Rose drew herself up, even though she felt mortally wounded. Already. And she was sure that he hadn’t even really started his attack. ‘I’m not a prostitute.’

Are you sure about that? mocked a small voice.

Zac sneered. ‘You’re sure as hell no meek and invisible maid either. You’re seriously expecting me to believe that both times we met were a happy coincidence, only for you to disappear into the ether and suddenly emerge from under whatever stinking place you inhabit months later, claiming to be pregnant with my child?’

Rose opened her mouth to assert that this baby was his, but he wasn’t finished.

‘You seem to be forgetting that it’s common knowledge now that the house where you work as a maid was my family home.’

She wanted to correct him—she wasn’t working there any more—but he laughed then, and it was harsh and cold.

‘I have to hand it to you both for such simple ingenuity, using the oldest trick in the book—the honey trap.’

Rose recoiled inwardly, realising that he assumed she’d been in league with his mother… And of course she had. However reluctantly.

He came closer and stopped dead in front of her, self-disgust written all over his face. ‘But your particular brand of honey came with a bitter aftertaste.’

Rose immediately felt protective of her baby, hating the wounding words. She interjected before he could say more. ‘I haven’t worked there for four months. And it wasn’t like that. I swear…’

Zac’s dead-eyed look told her what he thought of that little attempt to defend herself, so she closed her mouth. He started to walk around her, like a shark. She stared straight ahead, rigid with tension.

He said from behind her, ‘Whether or not you currently work there is beside the point. Tell me—did you get a bonus for getting pregnant, or was it an all or nothing deal?’

Rose’s hands were digging so deeply into her bag that she wouldn’t be surprised if she was gouging holes in the leather. She refused to turn around, and again said tightly, ‘It wasn’t like that.’

Zac made a rude snorting sound. ‘Assuming that you are pregnant and that it is mine, I’d say you’re still on the payroll. So essentially that’s a transaction many would call—’

‘Stop it!’ Rose’s voice rang out harshly.

Zac came back to stand in front of her, lifting an eyebrow. ‘Such a spirited defence.’

His eyes dropped to where the bag covered her belly. She was at that slightly uncomfortable stage of pregnancy where her belly was finally looking more defined and less like bloated swelling, and she hated feeling that self-consciousness now. As if he cared how she looked. As if she should care!

Rose gathered up her strength in the face of his utter condemnation, justified as it was. ‘I am pregnant with your baby and I was just a maid. I’m not saying those meetings weren’t engineered to bring us together…’ She faltered then, knowing that however she tried to defend herself she couldn’t deny that on some very crude level Zac was right.

But he wasn’t even listening. He stood back, arms folded. Formidable and distant. ‘As much as I’d love to believe otherwise, I suspect you probably are carrying my child. Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt is so obsessed with the precious family bloodline that she would never leave something that important to chance.’

No, she wouldn’t. Rose knew that all too well, feeling sick when she thought of his mother.

Zac’s voice was harsh. ‘The moment you agreed to accept money from her to deliberately seduce me, you crossed a line that millions of women cross every day in this city. And each one of them probably has more integrity than you.’

Rose fought hard to keep her chin up. This was the least she deserved. She knew that. But, even so, she couldn’t help saying, ‘I didn’t want to do it. I walked away that first night.’

Zac took a step back, incredulity stamped all over his handsome face. ‘That was just a ploy to incite me to chase you. To want you.’

Bitter gall burnt Rose’s insides. Of course he would think that. Why wouldn’t he?

‘I won’t ask again,’ he rapped out. ‘Tell me what the going rate is for playing God with my life and giving me a child I had no intention of ever fathering.’

The futile anger that had risen up in a flash drained away again. He was right. That was exactly what she’d done. She’d played God. And still she couldn’t answer him. Because how could she say the price had been her father’s life when that life was held in such delicate balance at the moment? She couldn’t break the non-disclosure agreement… If she did, her father would suffer. She didn’t care what might happen to her. But it wasn’t just about her any more.

In the face of Zac’s clear hostility all she could cling to now was the fact that she was doing this for her father. To save him. This had to be worth it. It had to be. And she had to protect the innocent baby she carried, who did not deserve this opprobrium.

Zac was glaring at her now, silently demanding an answer, and Rose said the only thing she could.

‘I’m not telling you anything.’

Zac looked at Rose and the rage inside him reached boiling point. I’m not telling you anything. Of course she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to jeopardise the undoubtedly sizeable settlement she was due when her child—his child!—took that hated name and came in line to inherit the Lyndon-Holt fortune.

Zac was dangerously close to the edge of his control, and he didn’t like to admit that even before, when his life had been ripped asunder, he hadn’t felt so volatile. He’d vowed never to let himself be put in that position again—at the mercy of secrets and lies. And yet here he was, teetering on the very lip of it.

He turned abruptly away from that pale face and those huge eyes and stalked to the window. He couldn’t look at her and not fall over the edge.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but he’d expected her to show something different from the innocent persona she’d projected both times they’d met before. He’d expected her to be confident. Triumphant. Crowing. Greedy.

And she was none of those things. Or not yet, at least. She just had those huge eyes that looked so damn full of something that mocked him for his initial weakness. Because he’d believed in it. In her.

The revelation that she’d used her physical innocence as a bargaining chip that night made him bilious. Her virginity might have been real, but every other moment had been a poisonous fabrication.

He recalled persuading her to stay and those eyes looking at him with such unbelievable torment. As if she’d truly had to wrestle with her conscience. And then she’d run, perfecting her act, before popping up again the following week. What an unmitigated fool he’d been to trust that it had been mere coincidence.

As much as Zac would have loved to have her escorted from his building and excised from his life for good, he couldn’t. She was pregnant. He’d noticed the barely perceptible thickening of her waist that she was trying to hide under that bag. And he hated that he’d noticed. And that it wasn’t having a cooling effect on his hormones. Hell, as soon as he’d seen her photo in the paper his libido had roared back to life.

Pregnant. He was still reeling from that shock and coming to terms with the fact that he most likely was the father. He’d never contemplated this reality, too intent on making sure the Lyndon-Holt name died out with his grandmother. As he’d told her years before, she could take her bitter legacy to the grave or leave it to a cats’ home for all he cared.

Yet he knew that as much as he might blame the woman in his office right now, and his grandmother, he only had himself to blame, really.

He was the one who’d been weak. His hyper-vigilance had been blown apart as soon as he’d laid eyes on that pale, slender back. Her unadorned beauty. A beauty that would be tainted in his eyes forever now. He’d had moments of suspicion but he’d ignored them, too in heat for her. Like a rabid dog.

He’d arrogantly assumed he had an edge over his peers after everything that had happened to him, but he’d learnt nothing. This was a brutal lesson in recognising his own lack of humility. His complacency.

He’d been the susceptible fool who had succumbed to that sweet, hazy lovemaking in the darkest hours of the night, when she’d obviously—in spite of her inexperience—sensed her opportunity and made the most of it. Milking him so exquisitely with her tight body that he’d not even realised it wasn’t a dream because he’d never felt anything like it before.

But it hadn’t been a dream. It was a living nightmare. And now his weakness meant that everything he’d wanted to do to avenge the people who had given him life was for naught.

He went still then, as something struck him—a glimmering shard of possibility. A way he could still prevail. As it took root in his mind, for the first time since he’d heard this news the rage inside him cooled a fraction. Because there was a way he could turn this around. A way to thwart his grandmother’s nefarious plans. A way to avenge his parents far more profoundly than he’d ever anticipated.

By giving life to another name. His father’s name. Valenti.

When Zac felt slightly more in control he turned around, but seeing Rose standing there in his office still hit him like a punch in the gut. Her eyes looked too big. He noted too that she looked as if she’d lost weight, making her seem even more ethereal and delicate. It tugged on something inside him. Unwelcome.

He had to focus. Remember who she was. What she’d done. And try to salvage something out of this mess.

‘Sit down,’ he snapped, more forcefully than he’d intended. Her slight flinch impacted on him in the same unwelcome place. She didn’t move immediately, and Zac paced forward and pulled out a chair, not liking it that she looked paler now. ‘Sit. Before you fall down.’

He found himself pouring her a glass of water before he’d even registered the impulse. He handed it to her and she looked up at him as she took it, some colour returning to her cheeks.

‘There’s no need to talk to me like a dog, and I’m not some wilting lily.’

With any other woman Zac would have been horrified at his behaviour, but this was her. She was as low as they came. He went back around his desk and sat down, loosening his tie and opening the top button of his shirt, feeling constricted. It was time to assess exactly what he was dealing with.

‘I presume you signed a contract?’

The colour in her cheeks made something ease inside Zac. He told himself it was satisfaction that she’d decided not to try and play him with some meek little act. Good—he wanted her feisty and showing her true colours. So that it wouldn’t be hard to remember the sheer gall it had taken for her to sell her virginity and her womb to the highest bidder.

She took a sip of water. When she looked at him again she seemed to square her shoulders, as if preparing for battle. He told himself grimly that she didn’t even know what a battle was yet.

‘Well?’ he rapped out, impatient.

She swallowed, the movement of her throat drawing his eye down to where he could see the hollow just above her collarbone. He remembered tracing that hollow, tasting it with his tongue… And suddenly the irritation was joined by a rush of lust so intense that Zac was glad he was sitting down.

He hated himself for the desire to let his eyes linger on her. She was beautiful enough to hurt, with rose-gold tendrils of hair escaping to frame that treacherous face. Damn, but he ached to be close to her again, remembering all too easily how it had felt to thrust into that tight embrace.

He couldn’t believe it. Even after the worst betrayal his libido had no issues with this treacherous woman. All he felt was pure base need. Regardless of who she was and what she’d done. It killed him to know that his own body could perpetuate the betrayal.

‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she answered.

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then anger propelled Zac up out of his chair. He paced away from the desk—away from her. Not many people had the nerve to stonewall him, and he almost felt a grudging respect.

But when he turned to her again he just said coldly, ‘Can’t? You mean won’t.’

Distaste for everything she represented and her obvious collusion with his grandmother made him realise very quickly that he had to seize control of this situation.

As if she could sense what was coming, she asked him, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

There was the faintest tremor in her voice but Zac told himself it was just fear, because on some level she had to suspect now that she would not win against him.

‘I’m taking full responsibility for my actions. Starting now.’

‘What do you mean?’

He looked at her, tightening every muscle in his body against the effect she had on him even now. ‘What I mean, my sweet, poisonous Rose, is that I’m going into damage limitation mode and you’re coming with me.’

Rose stood up from the chair, her bag dropping to the ground, the glass still in her hand. ‘What are you talking about?’

Zac savoured the look of growing panic on her face.

‘I’m talking about the fact that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure this baby is not subjected to the Lyndon-Holt legacy.’

He noticed that she blanched, clearly seeing her payday in jeopardy.

‘But…but you can’t do that. I’m the baby’s mother. I have the right to decide what happens to my baby.’

Her words impacted on him forcibly.

My baby.

His baby.

He was going to be a father. It was finally sinking in on a very real level.

A surge of something completely alien rose up and surprised him with its force. He realised it was a sense of possessiveness. Protectiveness. And this feeling merely solidified his resolve.

‘It’s also my baby—or have you forgotten that pertinent detail?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘This baby will be a Valenti, mark my words. And I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.’

He read the very definite flare of panic in those expressive green eyes, and saw her hand tighten so much around the glass that her knuckles turned white. In an instant he was beside her, without even realising he’d taken the decision to move. He took the glass out of her hand and put it down, angry at his impulsive reaction.

When he saw how pale she was he had to fight back the strangest instinct to reassure her. Coming on the heels of that sense of protectiveness for his unborn child, it was almost a mockery. He had to remember who she was, and that she was mercenary enough to get pregnant in order to feather her nest.

CHAPTER SIX

THIS BABY WILL be a Valenti, mark my words.

Rose was reeling. This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. She’d expected Zac’s anger and hostility, yes, but then she’d expected him to kick her out of his office, telling her he never wanted to see her again or hear about the baby.

Yet now he was saying…he wanted this baby? Her initial reaction to that was panic. If Mrs Lyndon-Holt believed for a second that she was reneging on the contract then surely she would yank her father out of that medical clinic so fast their heads would be spinning…

But along with the panic was something else…something far more disturbing… A sense of relief that Zac wasn’t rejecting his child out of hand. And that rocked Rose to the core, because she realised she hadn’t truly allowed herself to imagine that he would want to acknowledge his child.

Zac was suddenly too close. His scent was winding around Rose, eclipsing what he was saying. Almost eclipsing the turmoil she was desperately trying to hide from him. She couldn’t seem to think straight and she took a step back, as if some space between them might help.

Zac, oblivious to the real reasons for her inner tumult, said mockingly, ‘No need to look so worried. Thanks to the cargo you carry, your future is guaranteed to be comfortable no matter what happens. But I will be controlling this situation from now on.’

Rose felt uncomfortably as if she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. ‘What do you mean?’

His gaze narrowed on her again, making her skin prickle. ‘This is already all over the press, and until I know what I’m dealing with I’m keeping you where I can see you. You’re not leaving my sight. You’ll be moving into my apartment today.’

She sputtered ineffectually. ‘But that’s ridiculous! You can’t just keep me there. I have jobs. I live in Queens.’

Zac shook his head. ‘Not any more. Where I go, you go.’

Rose felt all her blood drain south. The walls of the office seemed to be drawing closer, even though they were made of glass. ‘We’re not living in the medieval ages. You can’t force me to do this—it’ll be kidnap.’

He just looked at her with ice in his eyes. ‘It won’t be kidnap, sweetheart—far from it. You’re moving up in life…just like you planned when you walked into that function room with every intention of seducing me into your virginal bed.’

A few hours later Rose was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Zac’s apartment, looking out over the view. She dimly registered that she’d seen it at all times of the day now: morning, afternoon, dusk and night.

Before, it had felt like a privileged view on the world. Now… The windows might as well have had bars on them. Because she was in a veritable prison.

The only thing that had stopped her running from Zac’s office earlier, as fast as she could, was the unwelcome realisation that if she did he would just find her and bring her back. And also, as much as he obviously didn’t trust her and wanted to keep an eye on her, she needed to keep an eye on him.

She was afraid he’d do something that would jeopardise the care of her father, and until that operation happened she couldn’t take that risk. Not when her father was so close to being made well again.

Self-recrimination blasted her. She’d put herself and her baby squarely in the middle of a bitter battle between Zac and his mother. The sheer enormity of the consequences of her actions was almost too huge to bear at that moment, and Rose struggled to regain the sense of control that was fast shattering around her. As if she’d ever had any control over this situation…

‘Trying to scheme your way out of this predicament?’

She tensed at Zac’s deep voice and marvelled that such a big man could move so silently. She didn’t look at him as he came and stood beside her. She was afraid he might see how dangerously vulnerable she felt right now.

‘It would appear as if I don’t have much choice except to stay here for now,’ she said tautly.

The extent and speed with which Zac had set about taking control of her life shouldn’t have shocked her. Rose had a sense that whatever ruthlessness she’d seen in his mother was about to pale into insignificance next to his iron will.

‘No, you don’t have much choice.’

Rose glanced at him briefly, but it was enough to take in that gloriously masculine beauty. He’d changed out of his suit into more casual clothes. Trousers and a long-sleeved polo shirt.

She looked away again and swallowed. Her voice was husky. ‘Apparently not.’

As much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, because she was sure it was one-sided, she could feel the hum of electricity between them. And a coil of tension, deep in her core, that tightened with every tiny move Zac made.

She could see him now in her peripheral vision, arms folded, leaning nonchalantly against the glass. Exactly like he had that last afternoon. The sense of déjà vu was instant and vivid, bringing her right back to a time when she’d been trembling all over with anticipation.

‘Why did you do it, Rose?’

His words caught her somewhere between the past and the present and she looked at him, confused for a moment. ‘Why did I do what?’

Anger darkened his face. ‘You know very well what.’ He sent an expressive look down to her belly and suddenly the present rushed back. He looked at her face again. ‘Was it something you came up with when you heard other staff at the house gossiping? Did you figure you had a chance to catch my eye? And so you went to your boss with an audacious plan to get pregnant with the next in line to the Lyndon-Holt fortune, scoring yourself a lifetime of idle luxury as a result?’

She felt sick. ‘I’ve told you—it wasn’t like that.’

Zac seemed to consider this for a second and then he nodded his head minutely. ‘Perhaps not…’ Rose’s hopes soared for a second—until he said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her idea. An idea you were happy to capitalise on—’

‘Stop,’ Rose said, facing him directly. ‘I’ve already said that I can’t tell you anything.’

She felt too hot under that incisive blue gaze. As if he was mentally stripping her bare, just as he’d done physically that day. Laying her on his bed, telling her to ‘lie down, sweetheart’, before shattering her world to pieces—literally and figuratively.

Anger that he’d been able to seduce her so easily made her lash out now. ‘There were two of us there. I asked you to protect us.’

Zac’s mouth flattened to a thin line and he straightened from his nonchalant stance. ‘Don’t think for a second I’m not taking full responsibility for my actions. I’m well aware that we made love again without protection, and I will deal with the consequences.’

Rose’s hand went to her belly. ‘This baby is not a consequence.’

Zac looked derisory. ‘You’re telling me that this baby is more than just a means to an end for you? Please don’t insult my intelligence.’

Rose’s vision was blurring…with anger, she told herself. Anger was good. Because if she didn’t focus on the anger she was afraid she might go to pieces.

‘This baby is not just a means to an end.’ Suddenly something snapped inside her. Something she’d been suppressing. It rose up—an awful compulsion to know—and before she could stop herself she was blurting out, ‘That night we first met you acted like it meant something…like it wasn’t usual for you.’

Zac’s whole form went still. His face was a smooth mask, telling her nothing. Already Rose was cursing herself for having said anything. But it was too late. He was moving…coming closer with dangerously lithe grace.

He came so close that she had to tilt her head to look up at him, and she could see the flinty chips of ice blue in his eyes, the darker ring around his irises.

Quietly he said, ‘Oh, it meant something, all right.’

Her heart jumped. He lifted a hand and traced the line of her jaw with a finger, so lightly she could barely feel it, but it burned like a brand. She tingled, nerve endings snapping and sizzling. The past was coming dangerously close to the present again…

His gaze moved from her mouth, where it had dropped, back up to her eyes. ‘Do you want to know what it meant?’

Rose nodded, even though she knew she should know better. It wasn’t going to be good.

‘It meant that you piqued my interest—which is exactly what you set out to do. The fact that we had amazing mutual chemistry only made your job easier.’

Rose opened her mouth to protest again, but Zac put his thumb over her lips, stopping her from speaking.

When had he moved so close that his body was brushing hers? Rose couldn’t think straight… Zac’s thumb was moving back and forth now, over her mouth, and his eyes were on her there. Hot. Desirous.

‘Do you know what it also meant?’

She couldn’t move. He sounded as if he was talking to himself.

And then he said, ‘It meant this…’

Before Rose could react Zac had hauled her into his body, snaking his arm around her waist, and his mouth was crashing down on hers. Four months of aching exploded inside Rose as she found herself not hesitating for a second, responding as if the past and present had indeed meshed and there was only this…blissful sensation of coming home.

Zac knew that he hadn’t intended to kiss Rose for any other reason except to prove a point. When she’d looked at him and asked so earnestly if it had ‘meant something’ fury had risen up. She was still trying to play him…

But as soon as his mouth touched hers, as soon as those soft curves slotted into his harder planes and muscles, his motivation grew hazy and his severely frustrated libido snapped and growled, seeking only pleasure and satisfaction.

Rose twined her arms around his neck, hitching her chest closer to his. Were her breasts bigger? He itched to cup one, test its weight and firmness. His hand rose, skimming over her hip and waist… And it was that evidence of her thickening body that finally managed to bring him back from the roaring brink.

Not because his desire was doused—if anything his blood had got even hotter—but because this was only meant to be a lesson, and he was in danger of losing it all over again.

Zac pulled back from Rose so abruptly she was left clutching at air. She opened dazed eyes to find him standing a few feet away, looking at her. Her mouth was still open, fire was in her blood…but when she registered that he was looking at her as if he’d just been reading the paper, not a hair out of place, she cursed herself for a fool.

She shut her mouth and wrapped her arms around herself, hating that her breathing was so rough and that her nipples were still hard, stinging. Betraying her weakness.

‘What was that in aid of?’ At least she sounded cooler than she felt.

His jaw was like granite. ‘You asked what it “meant,” the night we met and our subsequent meeting. It meant we had physical chemistry, pure and simple. It meant I wanted to get you into my bed. And that even though I was unaware of your agenda the end result would have been the same.’

‘The end result…?’ Rose parroted back, struggling to get her hormones back under control. She felt raw.

‘Yes. The end result being that no woman is a fixture in my life—not even the ones who play hard to get. And not even the ones who get pregnant in a bid to earn themselves a fortune at my expense.’

He smiled then, as she digested his words, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

‘You’re good for an innocent. I’ll give you that. Who knows? Maybe you’ve been practising in the meantime. Maybe this baby isn’t mine at all…but you’re not going anywhere till I know for sure. And if paternity is confirmed, be under no illusions. He, or she, will be a Valenti. No force on earth will prevent that. This child will not suffer because of your betrayal and greed. It will be under my protection, and the extent of your involvement will be negotiated with me.’

At that stark declaration—at the prospect of what that would mean—Rose felt fear grip her by the throat, cutting off her breath. She felt weak and told herself it wasn’t because of that kiss. The sofa was nudging the back of her knees and she sat down.

She tried to rationalise, to reassure herself. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t… But she knew as she looked into that hard-boned face and saw those eyes full of disgust that he could. And would.

Zac Valenti had already shown the world what he did to people who got on his wrong side. He excised them from his life like a toxic wound and he flourished in the aftermath.

He’d famously left his fiancée standing at the altar, subjecting her to public ridicule and humiliation. And that was a woman who hadn’t even betrayed him. Rose knew he would do much worse to her.

A bitter dart struck her as she realised that he still suspected the baby might be someone else’s. Considering the anxiety she’d endured for the last few months, and the morning-to-midnight jobs she’d taken to improve her father’s chances of getting that operation, it was laughable that she would have taken another lover.

Right now she knew that she couldn’t endure another bruising round of words or, worse, his taking a notion to prove that he felt nothing for her by kissing her again. He’d done it purely to prove a point. That she’d revealed herself so easily burnt her up inside.

Maybe it was better this way… Better for her to have found out exactly how detached Zac had been all along. Better that than have him guessing for a second how much it had meant to her, losing her virginity to him. If he ever knew that…

The thought made her break out in a cold sweat.

She stood up, locking her legs into place in case they were still wobbly after the adrenaline rush of his kiss. ‘If that’s all for this evening, I’m quite tired. I’d like to go to bed.’

‘It’s not quite all, actually.’

Rose looked at him and truly hated him in that moment. She bit out, ‘What more is there?’

‘Your passport. We’ll need to pick it up from your house on the way to the airport tomorrow—along with whatever personal items you want to bring.’

Rose shook her head as if that might help clear it. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I have business in Tuscany. We’ll be in Italy for about ten days.’

Rose opened her mouth to protest against this further display of might and arrogance, but Zac cut in curtly, ‘This isn’t up for discussion. You’re coming with me.’

She watched open-mouthed as he turned and strode away from her, having delivered his decree, but just before he disappeared he turned again. ‘There are some ready-to-eat meals in the fridge, prepared by my housekeeper. Help yourself.’

Rose’s mouth had snapped shut, but now she said testily, ‘I’m surprised you’re allowing me to eat. Surely it’d be preferable if I just wasted away out of your life altogether.’

Zac made a tsking sound, and Rose immediately regretted her childish outburst, but at this stage she was tired and hungry and feeling thoroughly claustrophobic at the thought of going anywhere with this man.

‘I’m concerned, naturally, for your well-being—assuming that you are carrying my child until it is proved otherwise. And to that end I’ll be setting you up with the best gynaecologist in Manhattan as soon as we return from Italy.’

He sent a dismissive glance up and down her body. ‘I’ll have a stylist send over some clothes before we leave.’

This was too much. Hotly, Rose protested, ‘I have plenty of my own clothes.’ That wasn’t actually true, and her own clothes were beginning to feel distinctly tight around the midriff. She hadn’t had time to invest in maternity wear yet.

As if reading her mind, Zac spoke again. ‘While I will be doing my utmost to keep you out of the press until the baby’s paternity is confirmed, I can’t guarantee their interest will die down. And as long as your name is linked to mine you’ll look the part.’

When he was gone Rose sank down onto the sofa like a limp rag. Of course all he cared about now was the baby and how she might look. A man who dated supermodels obviously didn’t want to be seen to be lowering his standards.

She thought of her father then, lost for a moment in all the tumult, and vowed to call him as soon as she was alone in her room. Luckily she hadn’t made any plans to see him until closer to the operation. He believed she was working and didn’t want her to disrupt her schedule for him.

As much as Rose would have loved to march after Zac right now and tell him she would not be going anywhere with him, she knew she couldn’t. For all the same reasons she’d allowed him to bring her here in the first place. And, she had to concede weakly, the prospect of getting out of Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s orbit was very tempting.

Rose put a protective hand on her small but burgeoning belly and squeezed her eyes shut, assuring herself that she would get through this. She would. These, after all, were the consequences of her actions and she had to bear them. Somehow.

Zac looked at the slim figure silhouetted against the bucolic view. The late-summer Italian sun was glorious, sending out different-hued rays of gold and red as it set to the west. A warm breeze ruffled Rose’s wavy hair slightly, and Zac had to admit grudgingly that this was a magnificent setting for her pale rose-gold beauty.

She was standing at a low stone wall—the perimeter of his Tuscan villa which overlooked miles and miles of rolling hilly green countryside, not far from the city of Siena.

Rose was wearing some of the clothes he’d had sent over to the apartment before they’d left New York. The expensive fabrics suited her. Skinny jeans clung to her slim legs like a second skin. Her feet were encased in flat leather sandals. And then higher…to where her pert derriere and slim back gave no indication that she was pregnant from behind.

Even though he couldn’t see her belly right now, he had been acutely conscious of the small proud swell, revealed when the wind had pressed her loose-fitting sleeveless top to her belly as they’d walked to the plane at a private airfield near JFK airport earlier.

She’d pulled on a cashmere top on the plane, and Zac had never before been so distracted by the way the soft material could mould itself to a woman’s curves. Or how tactile it looked. His fingers had itched and all he’d been able to think about was how hard it had been to stop kissing her the day before.

She’d curled up on the seat opposite him, her luminous green gaze glued out of the window as if she’d never seen the world from above before. Even after the plane had levelled off to cruising altitude.

He’d been irritated enough by her prolonged wide-eyed wonder to ask, ‘Haven’t you been on a plane before?’

She’d looked at him and said, ‘Yes, but I’ve never left the States.’

She’d said it with a hint of defiance and Zac had felt his conscience prick. Then she’d turned away again and resolutely ignored him for the rest of the flight.

Zac knew that part of his irritation was stemming from the fact that he couldn’t seem to get a handle on her. She wasn’t behaving as he might have expected. At all. And that made him deeply suspicious—which was no bad thing in light of her devastatingly effective deception.

He took a breath now and told himself that she couldn’t get up to much right under his nose.

The surroundings soothed him somewhat…reminding him of the big picture and what was important. He’d been so caught up with extricating himself from his family and forging his fortune in the last few years that he hadn’t even contemplated what he wanted for the long term.

Faced with the prospect of a baby, he had to. But it was no bad thing. Because now he knew that this was what he wanted more than anything: for the Valenti name to survive and grow strong again. For it to be recognised as a force.

He might not have chosen Rose O’Malley to be the mother of his child, but the conniving schemer had handed him a golden opportunity and he was not going to let it slip beyond his control now—no matter what secret plan she’d cooked up with his grandmother.

Rose knew Zac was behind her, studying her. She could almost hear his brain whirring. She’d had a blissful few moments to explore on her own. She should have known it wouldn’t be long before he came to check up on his inconvenient guest. All through the flight to Italy she’d been conscious of his eyes tracking her every movement. It was as if he was just waiting for her to do something. What, she wasn’t sure.

The view that rolled out in front of her was so beautiful it almost hurt. Her father had always told her how green Ireland was, but this looked greener than anything she could have imagined. It made her heart hurt, because she knew how badly he wanted to visit his homeland again to spread her mother’s ashes, and if the operation wasn’t successful it might be something she would have to do on her own, some day…

She diverted her mind away from such maudlin thoughts.

Her father was in the clinic. That was all that mattered. That was what was making this worth it.

Zac had described this place as a ‘villa’. To Rose, though, it was more like a medieval castle. A huge sprawling terracotta castle, with terraces and courtyards and beautiful gardens tucked out of sight, bursting with flowers and greenery. There was even a swimming pool in one secluded courtyard, and it had looked deliciously inviting.

Zac came alongside her now and every tiny hair on her body stood up. She was glad of the covering of the soft cashmere pullover and crossed her arms firmly over her chest.

She couldn’t help saying softly, ‘This is beautiful.’

‘Yes, it is.’

Rose looked at him. While she’d been looking around he’d changed out of the suit he’d worn on the plane and into faded denims and a long-sleeved polo top, with the sleeves pushed back to reveal muscular forearms.

Seeing him like this, against this backdrop, was almost too much to take in. She instantly felt crumpled and inelegant, in spite of the new clothes.

Zac was backing away now, saying, ‘Maria has prepared a light supper. We’ll eat on the terrace—this way.’

Rose was so momentarily distracted by his tight behind in the jeans that he was almost gone from sight before she moved.

When she rounded a corner of a small pathway edged with bright flowers, it led straight onto a terrace, where a table had been set out with white linen, a small vase of flowers and candles. A rotund woman with a smiling face caught her arm and led her to the table, babbling in broken English.

Rose had met her earlier. She was the housekeeper, Maria. The woman oozed friendly Italian maternal warmth and Rose had found herself feeling absurdly tearful, reminded of her mother. She’d been shocked to hear Zac conversing with her in what sounded like fluent Italian.

He was sitting at the table now and flicking out a napkin to spread on his lap, reaching for bread and drizzling olive oil on top. He looked remote, and as Rose sat down and helped herself to some bread she said, ‘Don’t feel you have to be polite and share dinner with me. I’d be perfectly happy to eat in the kitchen with Maria.’ Whom she was sure would provide more pleasant company and be infinitely less disturbing to her equilibrium.

Zac sent her a pointed look. ‘Don’t act the martyr. It doesn’t suit you. And I won’t have you putting Maria to work serving dinner in two places just so you’re more comfortable.’

Rose glared at Zac and said testily, ‘That is not fair. Of course I didn’t mean to put her out.’

She clamped her mouth shut, in case she might say something else, and Maria appeared again to put down a platter of antipasto, beaming at Zac like a fond mother.

Zac smiled back at Maria, and seeing his face so transformed knocked the breath from Rose’s chest. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be under that all too seductive approving regard, and she felt ridiculously emotional for a moment.

But as soon as Maria left the smile faded and Zac busied himself with the food. He glanced at her empty plate. ‘You don’t like antipasto?’

Rose forced herself to take some dried meats and salad, knowing that she couldn’t let Zac ruin her appetite. It wasn’t good for her or the baby. And, once she’d started eating and tasted the delicious food, her appetite thankfully kicked in.

Despite the ever-constant levels of tension, Rose found that she was relaxing as the evening closed in around them, bringing the melodic calls of native birds. The sky looked like velvet strewn with pink ribbons, and the air was warm and fragrant.

It was…idyllic. A million miles from Manhattan and Zac’s supercharged life. Yet, looking at him now, she thought he might have been born to this. He looked like a true Italian, and for the first time Rose found herself wondering about the origin of the break between him and his family.

‘What kind of business are you involved in here in Italy?’

Zac put his coffee cup down. It should have looked ridiculous in his big hands, but of course it didn’t. It only reminded Rose of what those hands had felt like on her body. She flushed.

Sounding distinctly reluctant, he said after a few seconds, ‘It’s a mine nearby. It was defunct, but we did some exploration and discovered a new seam of iron.’

Rose frowned. ‘I didn’t know you were involved with the industry—I thought you dealt only in finance and the hotel and nightclub business.’

He raised a brow. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rose.’

She might have asked more about the business if she’d felt she could. But Zac was right—what on earth did she really know about him? It scared her to think how easily she’d trusted herself to him in the beginning. And he’d only had to kiss her yesterday before she’d started cleaving to him again like some kind of starved groupie.

Zac stood abruptly from the table, putting down his napkin, clearly done with their tense dinner. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make. You should get an early night—you look tired.’

If Rose had felt at a low ebb earlier next to Zac’s rude vitality, now she felt even more lacklustre. She didn’t doubt that not many women had the nerve to appear in Zac’s company looking anything less than stunning.

He was about to walk away when she called after him lightly, ‘I presume I’m to be seen and not heard for the next ten days?’

Zac turned back, the lines of his body suddenly tense. ‘Don’t worry, Rose, I won’t forget you’re here.’

He disappeared into the sprawling villa and Rose deflated like a balloon, all the tension leaving her body. She hated it that she was in such a constant state of awareness around him when he barely tolerated her.

Something dangerous tugged on her emotions now that she was mercifully unobserved. If only those two first times she’d met him hadn’t been so magical…if only she hadn’t been tempted to take what he was offering and convince herself that it would be okay…

Rose shook her head at herself. She had to stop thinking like that.

She had no regrets…

She put a hand over her small belly and took a deep breath, trying not to let a feeling of being all alone steal over her. She refused to give in to that vulnerability. She’d gotten herself into this situation—her and this baby—and it was up to her to make the best of it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOR THREE DAYS Rose had an almost pleasant time. A wave of exhaustion had seemed to hit her after that first night, and she’d spent most of her time sleeping, taking long siestas during the hottest part of the day. Then Maria had taken her into the local village when she’d gone shopping the previous day, and Rose had loved looking around the market and the small artisan shops.

Zac had come and gone from the villa, sometimes using a helicopter, and hadn’t offered to share a meal with Rose again. She’d gotten used to eating alone on the terrace and told herself she didn’t mind. How could she mind? She was in one of the world’s most amazing locations and she was being waited on hand and foot, like a princess.

She’d braved the pool earlier, and lay beside it now after a long, leisurely swim. She was trying to engage with a book she’d taken from one of the bookshelves in the comfortable den.

That was the other thing about this house…it didn’t resemble the ascetic decoration of Zac’s apartment in New York. This was more like a home. Rose could imagine a family here…children chasing each other through the pathways and gardens…

She put down the book and closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment in the daydream, an unconscious smile making her mouth curl up…

Zac stood at a standstill in the shadows of a tree near the pool. Rose was reclining on a sun lounger in a bikini. As a connoisseur of women’s clothing, Zac knew this bikini was perfectly respectable—demure, even—but his eyes devoured her slim limbs and high breasts as if he’d never seen a semi-naked woman before.

His body got hard in an instant, and he scowled at his reaction. She wasn’t even trying to be sexy. She had a hand spread across her burgeoning belly and Zac felt the most compelling impulse to go over and place his hand there too, feel it for himself. Would it be firm? Could she feel the baby kicking yet?

In an effort to try and break out of his stasis he dragged his gaze up to her face and saw her smile. He had been feeling a measure of guilt for having left her to her own devices for the last three days. Ridiculous guilt. It wasn’t as if she was his lover and he was here to entertain her. She was here merely because he wanted her where he could keep an eye on her. And she was in the lap of luxury.

Maria, who was clearly a fan of Rose, seemed to think it was her duty to give him a blow-by-blow account of all her movements. So he knew she’d been sleeping a lot. And that she’d gone to the market and had enjoyed it, by all accounts.

And now here she was, with an enigmatic secret smile on her mouth.

Zac battled with the darkness lodging inside him as the insidious suspicion struck him that he was jealous of that smile, of whatever was causing it.

Frantically, he denied it to himself. Why wouldn’t she be smiling? he rationalised. She’d hit the jackpot, exactly as that headline had said. She had his baby in her belly and she would want for nothing ever again.

A surge of protectiveness rose up inside him for the child as he thought of Rose scheming with his grandmother. All of which renewed Zac’s intentions to make sure his child remained in his custody, kept well out of his grandmother’s reach and protected from whatever future machinations Rose had planned.

Except right now she looked less like a devious manipulator and more like that fey creature Zac had likened her to when he’d first seen her. Damn her.

As if hearing his thoughts, Rose turned her head and opened her eyes, that green gaze landing directly on him. The smile immediately slipped from her face and she sat up, cheeks colouring. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

Zac felt like a peeping Tom. He stepped out from the shadows and saw Rose reach for a short robe, which she quickly pulled around herself. It made him say provocatively, ‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’

He saw her cheeks redden in earnest now. How was it that she could still project such innocence when the evidence of her treachery was there as plain as day, expanding her waistline? Which should not be turning him on—dammit. He put a screeching halt on his wandering thoughts.

Something about that sphinx-like smile she’d had on her face just now made him want to test her. He said, ‘I’m going out to the mine to check on progress. You could come if you like?’

He regretted the impulse as soon as he’d spoken out loud. It was no place for a woman—much less a pregnant woman. But she was looking at him now with wide eyes, and something in those green depths stopped him from taking the invitation back.

‘Really?’

This was the last response Zac had expected. Most women he knew would run a mile from anything that sounded remotely boring or work-related, but she actually looked excited. His conscience pricked again for leaving her alone.

Far too belatedly he tried to change her mind. ‘It’s really not that exciting. It’s grimy and dusty…’

‘I don’t mind…but I don’t want to be in your way.’

Feeling bemused now, but also wanting to see how far she would go before bailing, Zac said, ‘You won’t be.’

She stood up and said quickly, ‘I’ll just go and change.’

He called after her as she hurried off. ‘Put on something practical—like jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.’

It was only when she’d left and Zac was waiting for her that he realised there was a little hum of something that felt suspiciously like excitement in his blood. He tried to suppress it, telling himself it wasn’t because she was coming with him. He was just testing her. That was all. And he was intrigued to see how long she would keep the interested act up. No doubt she was just seizing an opportunity to court his favour.

But then she emerged minutes later, in soft faded jeans, sneakers and a light long-sleeved shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and an anxious look on her face, asking, ‘Is this okay?’ And suddenly Zac wasn’t sure of anything at all. Except for the surge of heat in his body.

Gruffly he said, ‘It’s fine, we’ll go in the Jeep.’

Rose strapped herself into the passenger seat, feeling ridiculously buoyed up that Zac had asked her to come with him. Well, had grudgingly offered to take her. She hoped, as they drove out of the estate, that she hadn’t appeared like an eager puppy, starved of affection.

Zac drove the Jeep with the same insouciant confidence that pervaded everything he did. Fast, but not too fast. Smooth. The countryside rolled out around them, stunning.

Rose said, ‘I can’t believe there are mines here. It seems such a shame to churn up this scenery.’

Zac’s mouth tipped up slightly at one corner. ‘I think the local population figure some desecration of the scenery is worth the benefits of having a local industry.’

Never had Rose felt more aware of her education going only as far as graduating from high school. She flushed with embarrassment. ‘Well, of course. I didn’t mean—’

‘I know what you meant,’ Zac surprised her by saying. ‘I agree—it does seem slightly sacrilegious to mess with this view. This is one of the few mines that is still functioning—most of the seams have been depleted by now. It’s rare to find an untapped source of raw minerals.’

He glanced at her then, but Rose kept looking straight ahead, aware of the fact that there seemed to be a very delicate cessation in hostilities. She didn’t want to say anything to provoke his sharp tongue again.

Then he surprised her by asking, ‘How are you feeling…you know, with the pregnancy? We haven’t really spoken about that. Do you have morning sickness?’

Rose looked at him, and then quickly schooled her features in case he was offended by her obvious surprise at his question.

She put a hand to her belly. ‘I’ve been okay, actually. Luckily. I only experienced morning sickness in the first eight weeks, and then it seemed to pass. Every now and then if a strong smell hits me I might get nauseous…but nothing untoward. At my last doctor’s visit she said everything looked okay. But I should have a scan at around twenty weeks.’

Zac surprised her by saying, ‘I have a local gynaecologist on standby in case you need anything. And the hospital in Siena is only a short helicopter ride away.’

She was strangely touched to hear that he’d organised this. Until she realised that of course his concern was for his potential future heir, which seemed to matter to him as much as it did to his mother.

She still didn’t know what had caused the rift between them, and wondered if she ever would. Something she’d noticed in the small local village the previous day came back to her, but while Zac was being civil enough right now, she didn’t want to push it by asking him anything personal.

‘Well, thank you—that’s reassuring… But I’m sure I won’t need to use their facilities.’

The rest of the journey passed in surprisingly easy silence, and then Rose could see that the hills around them were gradually losing their greenery and becoming more stripped back. A huge stone entrance was looming, and Zac drove in through a gate, waving at the security guard who tipped his hat at him.

The quarry was grey, the earth hacked and cut into all around them. They drove down a precipitously winding path to a deep ravine, where openings into tunnels were visible. Rose shuddered lightly at the thought of going down a dark shaft deep into the earth.

Above ground it looked stark and desolate, but Rose was fascinated to think of the riches that were obviously mined from the earth. She followed Zac out of the Jeep and he led her over to a large Portakabin office, where he handed her a high-visibility sleeveless jacket and a hard hat, and then a mask to put over her mouth.

She looked at him, and he said, ‘It’s probably not really necessary, but I’m not taking any risks.’

Of course. The baby.

Rose dutifully put on the mask and followed him back out. He was talking to a foreman and looking out over the whole quarry, which looked like a riverbed run dry when it had really been gouged out of the earth by men and machines.

Zac introduced her to the man and she pulled down her mask momentarily to greet him—only for Zac to scowl and pull it back up. She glared at him, but was more unsettled by the brush of his fingers against her mouth. He seemed to be transfixed too, for a moment, before breaking their staring contest and leading her away from the office.

Her mouth tingled where he’d touched it and she cursed her reaction. What if he did actually kiss her again? That thought made her stumble on the path down into the quarry, but strong arms wrapped around her so fast she couldn’t breathe. She was pulled back into Zac’s body and the imprint of his lean muscles was like a brand, mocking her for her flight of fancy, because he wouldn’t touch her like that again.

She scrambled free, saying breathily, ‘I’m fine.’

She was glad of the mask now, feeling her face burn. Thankfully he let her go, and Rose watched where she put her feet from then on.

She did her best to ignore her reaction as they continued their tour of the quarry. Rose was inordinately touched when his foreman spoke in English, obviously so she could understand what he was saying. And everyone they saw greeted Zac with a deference more suited to a visiting dignitary.

When she lagged behind at one point, looking down one of the cavernous shafts with a kind of dread fascination, another man in a suit stopped to wait for her. He asked her some polite questions and then confided with obvious awe, ‘This region was dying a slow death until Signor Valenti came back and invested in the mine. We all knew there was a possibility of more seams, but he was the only one who cared enough to invest. It was a huge gamble, but it’s paid off and we have him to thank for it.’

The man was called away by someone before he could continue, and now Rose was more intrigued than ever. What on earth would have induced Zac to take a gamble on investing in a mine in deepest Tuscany when the industry had all but died out?

He was striding back towards her now, and Rose’s heart swooped. Even against this barren backdrop, with a hard hat on his head, he looked vital and disgustingly handsome.

‘I’m done here. We can go now.’

Rose looked at her watch and was surprised to see that a couple of hours had passed. She’d been more engrossed than she’d thought she might be; it was such an alien but interesting place.

They handed in their jackets and hats, and when they were back in the Jeep Rose said, ‘Thank you for bringing me. I enjoyed seeing it.’

Zac looked at her and arched a suspicious brow. Rose chose to ignore his obvious scepticism at her professed enjoyment and asked, ‘Is this where you’ve been going since we arrived?’

He looked back to the road, his jaw clenching minutely, before he said, ‘Here, and also in Siena. I’m opening a new hotel there in a few months.’

‘Wow,’ Rose said. ‘You’re really marking your territory.’

Zac made a noncommittal noise, and then his phone rang through the car’s hands-free system. He said to Rose, ‘Do you mind if I take this? It’s important.’

She waved a hand. ‘Not at all.’

He took the call and spoke entirely in rapid-fire Italian, of which Rose couldn’t understand a word. She found it curiously soothing, though, listening to Zac’s deep voice, ridiculously melodic in the foreign language. And as a wave of weariness washed over her she curled onto her side and let her eyes close… Just for a few minutes, she promised herself.

Rose woke to a gentle knocking sound. She sat up groggily and realised she was on top of her bed. Feeling disorientated, she said, ‘Come in?’ not entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming.

But Maria’s friendly face appeared around the door and she said in her careful English, ‘Signor Zac is on the terrace—dinner in ten minutes.’

Rose gabbled a thank you and Maria left. A wave of hot self-consciousness washed through her. She remembered closing her eyes in the Jeep, promising herself just a few minutes’ rest while Zac was on the phone, but she must have fallen into a deep sleep… How had she got to her bedroom and onto the bed?

The realisation that Zac must have carried her…he had to have… Oh, God! He probably thought she’d been pretending to be asleep to lure him into her bedroom.

She got up and hastily stripped off her clothes and put on fresh ones, choosing a soft knee-length sleeveless jersey dress in a dark blue colour, pairing it with a pair of low-heeled slingbacks. She washed her face to wake herself up, and put on a minimum amount of make-up, brushing her hair and giving a deep sigh of frustration when it insisted on following its own unruly lines.

Then she castigated herself. What was she doing, primping and preening for a man who barely tolerated her presence in his life anyway?

As she walked to the terrace it dawned on her to wonder why Zac was eating with her, and she also realised that the dress was clinging far too lovingly to her blooming curves, especially her breasts, which were tender and feeling about a size bigger already.

But she’d rounded the corner now, and Zac had seen her and was standing politely. She couldn’t fault his chivalry.

She forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. It must have been like carting a sack of stones into the villa.’

Zac just looked at her, with something flickering in his eyes that sent an illicit zing of sensation deep into Rose’s solar plexus.

‘It was no trouble at all.’ Then he frowned. ‘But are you sure you’re feeling all right? Is it normal to sleep like that? I was almost tempted to call the doctor.’

Rose’s step faltered just as she reached her chair. He’d been worried? She shook her head. ‘No, it’s perfectly normal, according to my doctor. Fatigue in pregnancy can be quite debilitating, but I feel fine now.’

In fact her blood was fizzing, and she felt more alive than she’d felt in months. The doctor had also told her with a wink—knowing nothing of her personal life—that she might feel increased sexual urges once she’d got over the first trimester. Needless to say that had been the last thing on Rose’s mind at the time, but now she could appreciate the advice. For all the good it would do her…

Zac poured her a glass of sparkling water. He sat back and took a sip of his wine, watching her. Thankfully Maria came out with their first course, dissipating some of the tension.

While they ate the delicious starter—simple but delicious soup and bread—Rose told herself that she was being ridiculous to think she’d seen anything in Zac’s eyes when she’d arrived. It was just her rogue pregnancy hormones and stupid wishful thinking. Dangerous thinking.

In due course Maria came back and efficiently removed their starter plates and replaced them with a main meal of deliciously tender cutlets in a light sauce.

As the food restored a sense of equilibrium in Rose, she recalled Zac finding her by the pool earlier that day, and the way he’d been looking at her so intently. Again she’d had that sense that he was waiting for her to do something.

She felt embarrassed now to recall the daydream she’d been indulging in, of a family living in this beautiful house, its walls and paths alive with the sounds of laughter. She hated that he’d observed her in those private moments. Moments she’d never reveal to anyone… And just like that, her appetite fled. She put down her knife and fork.

Not missing a thing, Zac said, ‘You aren’t hungry?’

Rose held back the urge to be defensive. She’d only left a couple of bites on her plate, and forced herself to be civil. ‘Maria’s cooking is sublime…but I don’t think I’ve eaten so much or so consistently since before my mother died.’

‘How old were you when she died?’

Rose kept her face blank, feeling the familiar tug of grief that never left. ‘Fourteen. She battled cancer for four years…’

The truth was that their health insurance hadn’t been enough to guarantee her mother the best of care, and even though she’d been well taken care of there had been time spent on waiting lists that had meant her illness had taken hold and triumphed.

Which was why Rose had had such a panicked reaction to her father’s illness, imagining the same thing happening all over again…

Zac brought her back to the present. ‘And your father?’

Her insides tensed. She hated this ongoing deception. Truthfully, but vaguely, she answered, ‘He’s in upstate New York.’

‘And no brothers or sisters?’

Rose shook her head, avoiding his eye. ‘No, just me.’

‘That must have been rough after your mother died.’

She looked at him again, surprised, and said quietly, ‘It was. My parents were devoted to each other…it nearly destroyed my father…but he had me to think of.’

Her father had lost a part of his soul when his beloved wife had died, and Rose hadn’t begrudged him that.

Feeling raw, and realising they were straying far too close to danger areas, Rose desperately tried to think of something to divert Zac’s attention. She seized on what she’d noticed in the village the previous day. ‘When I went to the market with Maria yesterday I visited the local church.’

Zac sent her a dry look. ‘To repent for your sins?’

Rose fought the urge to scowl, or to rise to Zac’s bait, even as a part of her quickened at this chink of dark humour.

She ignored the comment, saying, ‘My mother was religious and I got used to going into churches with her, where she’d light candles for different friends’ various ailments and worries.’ She continued quickly, in case Zac was inclined to make any more barbed comments. ‘There’s a pretty graveyard by the church, so I went in to have a look, and I noticed that Valenti seems to be a very prominent name here… It was all over the graveyard, actually—easily the most common family name.’

Rose stopped talking when she saw Zac’s hand tighten on his wine glass. He was still looking at her, and she saw him pale slightly under his olive skin. Suddenly he stood up, his chair making a harsh sound on the stone terrace.

Completely perplexed by his reaction, Rose put down her napkin and said hesitantly, ‘Zac…?’

She got up and walked over to where he stood, facing out over the countryside. Dusk gathered around them, lengthening the shadows. Rose felt as if she’d intruded onto something intensely private.

She looked up at his strong profile. And then, before he even said anything, it clicked. This was why he looked so at ease here and spoke fluent Italian. He was from here. This was his land. She could see it now, stamped indelibly onto his proud features. That aquiline Italian profile. She said faintly, ‘They’re your relations… But how…?’

A muscle pulsed in Zac’s jaw, but eventually he said, ‘My father. He was Luca Valenti. Born and raised here in the village. He worked in the local mine until he emigrated to New York when he was twenty-five, looking for a better life.’

Rose frowned, not comprehending. ‘But your parents… I mean your mother…she is—’

He cut in, looking at her now, and said almost accusingly, ‘She is not who you think. Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt is my grandmother—not my mother.’

‘But how?’ Rose couldn’t get her head around it. She caught Zac’s dry look and said, ‘Well, obviously your mother must have been…’

‘Her daughter. Her only child. Simone Lyndon-Holt.’

Rose realised then that she’d never really given much thought to why Zac had taken the name Valenti; she’d gone to work at the Lyndon-Holt house shortly after he’d left and had vague memories of the press assuming at the time that he’d plucked it from obscurity. But it was his name—his actual real name.

‘But how did your mother meet your father if he was—?’

‘An immigrant?’ Zac supplied with a bitter tone.

Rose half shrugged and nodded. She was the daughter of immigrants, so she hadn’t meant it like that.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly reluctant to speak of this. But Rose was too greedy for information to tell him he didn’t need to go on. This, she was just discovering, was her child’s heritage. Its real heritage.

‘My mother met my father when he was hired as a labourer to work on the grounds at the house. She was twenty-one and promised in marriage to a man from a family of similar standing. She was ripe for rebellion after a lifetime of being brought up in that mausoleum and, after meeting my father, she broke off her engagement.’

There was no mistaking the bitterness in Zac’s tone now, and his mouth was a thin line. Rose suspected that he wasn’t just talking about his mother’s experience and her heart squeezed.

‘By all accounts their affair was passionate, and my father encouraged my mother to elope with him—which she did. They got married in upstate New York, and by the time they came back she was pregnant with me.’

Rose was aware of her heart pounding with dread, wanting to know more but not wanting to know at the same time, because it wouldn’t be good. How else had Zac ended up with his grandparents posing as his parents?

‘When they returned to confront my grandparents—to present them with a fait accompli—my grandfather, who was still alive at that point, told my mother she was dead to them and that if she crossed the threshold again they would ensure my father would be run out of the country, exposed for not having a proper working visa. Needless to say they cut her off from her inheritance and all funds.’

Zac glanced at Rose for a moment before looking away again.

‘My father wanted to bring my mother back here, to Italy, but her pregnancy was difficult so they had to stay in New York to ensure her safety—and mine.’

Rose wondered if that was why Zac had made sure she had access to doctors and a hospital, and why he’d been concerned about her well-being earlier.

He was continuing. ‘Things got fraught. My father was under more and more pressure to earn money to support them. He was working four jobs at one point, and it was while he was on a construction job that he was involved in an accident.’

Rose sucked in a breath.

‘He was taken to hospital, but he had no ID with him and he was barely conscious. He slipped into a coma and it was a week before my mother was able to track him down. The shock made her go into early labour, and by the time I was born—a month prematurely—my father had died.’

Rose put her hand up to her mouth, as if that could stifle the shock she felt.

Zac’s voice was leached of all expression now. ‘My mother was destitute by then—cut off from her parents and qualified to do nothing except be a social butterfly. In her desperation she did the only thing she felt she could do. She took me to them and asked them to take care of me. They told her that they would only take me in and care for me under one condition: if she left and never returned.’

‘Oh, God… Zac…’

But he continued relentlessly. ‘All they cared about was having a male heir. My grandmother had only had one child—my mother—and my grandfather had never forgiven her for that, so they seized the opportunity to restore the balance when they could.

‘My mother left that day and a week later her body was washed up on the shores of the East River. My parents had kept her disappearance quiet, somehow, and her death barely got a mention in the papers. The scandal was simply absorbed into Manhattan society and hidden—like countless other scandals. I was accepted as their child…as if it was entirely normal for a couple in their late forties to emerge with a baby out of nowhere. As I grew up I heard talk of an older sister who had committed suicide, but I never knew who she really was.

‘Years later, on the morning I was due to get married, a woman came to visit me—she was an old friend of my parents…someone who had lived in the same building as them. She’d been pregnant at the same time as my mother… She told me everything, and also that my mother had gone to her after she’d left me with my grandparents, torn apart but knowing that she’d done the only thing she could to ensure my security and future. She’d made this friend of hers promise to keep an eye on my progress, and one day, when she felt the time was right, to tell me the real story. When I confronted my grandparents they didn’t even deny it.’

Zac stopped talking, and Rose asked quietly, ‘Why did you never go public with this?’

His jaw clenched, and then he said, ‘I told my grandparents that if they left me alone to get on with my life, cutting all ties, then I’d let them keep their rotting skeletons in the closet. It was enough at the time for me to take my father’s name as my own.’

Rose reeled. She longed to reach out and touch Zac, who seemed so remote, but she couldn’t. All she could say was, ‘I’m so sorry. Your parents didn’t deserve that, and neither did you.’

He looked at her, cynicism stamped into his features, twisting them. ‘Oh, I don’t know… I had a privileged upbringing, wanted for nothing. Every opportunity was afforded to me. There was even talk of me running for office in the distant future…it was all mapped out.’

His barbed sarcasm grated on Rose’s nerves, and she said in a low voice, ‘I know that it can’t have been easy—or else why would you have left as soon as you knew?’

Zac turned to face her fully and said with quiet devastation, ‘You don’t know anything of what it was like. The only reason I’ve divulged this to you is because I want you to understand what’s behind my determination to bring this child up as a Valenti. Nothing will stop me, Rose.’

After a long, intense moment he turned and walked back to the table, picked up his half-empty glass of wine and downed it in one swallow, and then left the terrace.

Rose hugged her arms around herself and thought, I do know what it’s like, actually. She’d lived in that house too, albeit in the staff quarters, and only while working. She could imagine all too well what that cold and sterile environment must have been like for a small child who carried the genes of his Italian immigrant father but didn’t even know it.

And clearly Zac saw her as just another part of the ongoing betrayal of his parents.

Rose looked out sightlessly over the moonlit countryside as her hand dropped instinctively to feel for her small reassuring bump. Emotion gripped her. How could she deny this child its true birthright now? After everything Zac had just told her? No wonder he had reacted the way he had to the news of a baby.

Rose had never felt more powerless than she did right at that moment, or more alone. She wanted desperately to be able to do the right thing…but how?

CHAPTER EIGHT

AS ZAC STRODE into the villa the following evening, after a day in Siena at the hotel, he was battling all sorts of emotions that had never ruffled his life before now. Primary of them all was regret—for having spilled his guts so comprehensively to Rose the previous evening.

There was a handful of people who knew the truth about his heritage, and now she was one of them. She, of all people, who had the potential to damage him the most.

But he’d been blindsided when she’d unearthed something as simple as the fact that the name Valenti was a local one. And who the hell went for a walk in a graveyard anyway? Rose. The woman who remained like quicksilver—impossible to pin down, shimmering and throwing up different facets, and still refusing to behave as he expected her to.

The emotion in her eyes last night had reached into his gut and squeezed hard. It had reminded him too forcibly of that first night, when she’d looked at him with such naked yearning only to run out on him.

The familiar refrain sounded in his head: it was all part of an act. In every moment of those two meetings she’d been aware of exactly what she was doing and who he was. And she was doing it again.

Once she’d known she was pregnant she could have tried to evade him in Manhattan and sought refuge with his grandmother, but she hadn’t. She’d come to him when he’d sent for her and she was here now. So she was canny enough to keep him on her side. Or perhaps this was something she and his grandmother had agreed on… The not knowing killed him.

He shoved away the regret for spilling his guts. He was glad he’d told her how it was. Glad that she now knew he would stop at nothing to keep his child away from the poisoned Lyndon-Holt inheritance. She could pass that message on to his grandmother.

Zac stopped in his tracks at the pool and felt irritation rise when he saw it was empty. He’d looked in every conceivable place that Rose might be. Where the hell was she?

Unbidden, the memory of carrying her sleeping form into the villa the previous afternoon rose up. The way she’d felt in his arms—so slight, yet solid, all those soft curves curled into him so trustingly. When Zac had deposited her on her bed he’d stood looking down at her for a long time, certain she was just feigning sleep. But she hadn’t woken. She’d just lain there, breathing evenly, tempting him on so many levels that eventually he’d walked out in disgust.

A sharp metallic noise suddenly emerged from the nearby kitchen area, along with a colourful curse. Welcoming the distraction, Zac followed the sound. He was intrigued, because he knew it was Maria’s evening off.

When he stood in the doorway of the kitchen it took a moment for his eyes to register what he was seeing, and when they did a ball of sheer heat and lust exploded in his solar plexus.

Rose was barefoot and wearing a loose and flowing knee-length flowered sundress. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Her hair was tied back, but unruly tendrils clung to her visibly damp skin.

And all Zac wanted to do was go over to her, lift her onto the massive kitchen table behind her, strip off that dress, bury his aching erection into the hot, tight sheath between her legs and finally find some release.

His body screamed with need.

He gritted his jaw hard, clawing back control.

Other things finally registered on Zac’s overwrought brain: a delicious smell of cooking and the fact that Rose was biting her lip and holding her hand under the tap. When it finally dawned on him that she’d hurt herself he was by her side in an instant, taking her hand and looking at the red welt.

‘What happened?’ he demanded in a harsh voice. ‘What are you even doing in here?’

Rose would have jumped ten feet in the air if Zac hadn’t been holding onto her hand and looking at her as if she’d just stolen the Crown Jewels. Shock and fright at his sudden and overwhelming proximity made her yank her injured hand back and place it under the cold water again.

‘I just burnt my hand on a baking tray. I was making dinner… Maria left me instructions.’

Thankfully Zac was no longer touching her, but he was still too close and all but breathing fire down her neck.

She wasn’t prepared to see him like this. She’d been vacillating all day between telling herself that she had to be honest with Zac now, in light of what he’d revealed, and then remembering the signed contract and its non-disclosure agreement, and her father…still so vulnerable.

She couldn’t trust Zac—no matter what he’d told her. He hated her so much… Why wouldn’t he take an opportunity to punish her by allowing her father to suffer? Even though deep down she suspected that he couldn’t possibly hurt an innocent person, still it was too great a risk.

‘Maria left you to cook dinner? She usually just leaves food in the fridge.’

Water splashed from the tap onto Rose’s dress and she was very aware of her casual attire and bare feet next to his suited glory. He must have been in business meetings…

She struggled to focus. ‘I told her I’d look after it— I wanted to try her lasagne recipe.’

She felt embarrassed now—exposed. As if it might be obvious that she’d been indulging in an extended version of that illicit little daydream she’d had, pretending that this was her home and she was cooking for people who loved her. This wasn’t her home and never would be. This was just a relocation of her gilded prison.

‘Is your hand okay?’

Zac’s voice broke through her fevered recriminations. She lifted it out from under the water and could see that the red was dying down to a faintly throbbing pink line. She turned off the tap. ‘It’ll be fine. The lasagne is almost cooked, if you want some—’

‘I didn’t bring you here to be my cook, Rose.’

She wrapped a damp towel around her hand and glared at him, hating his effect on her. ‘I know exactly why I’m here, Zac. I like cooking and I was making dinner for myself—and possibly you if you wanted it—that’s all.’

His eyes swept over her in a searing glance and she felt every particle of her skin prickle in reaction. And then he backed away, almost as if something about her was contagious. No doubt she presented a pretty picture: sweaty, burnt, smelling of food…

‘I’ve got tickets to the opera in Siena this evening. You eat, and we’ll leave in an hour.’

Rose opened her mouth to reject Zac’s non-offer, but he was already walking away from her before she could respond. And then she thought mutinously: Hang Zac Valenti. For whatever reason, he was offering her a night at the opera. She wouldn’t let him ruin a chance for her to get out and see more of this amazing country.

And as for her ridiculous daydreams of cooking for loved ones…? Well, cooking for one wasn’t so bad, and the rest of the lasagne would freeze well.

The fact that this brought back painful memories of the period after her mother’s death, when her father had taken to working late in order to avoid coming back to the house that reminded him of his wife’s absence, wasn’t so welcome. Because Zac Valenti was the last person who should be inspiring feelings of wanting to nourish and connect.

Zac had expected some equanimity to be restored once he’d got out of that kitchen and away from all the delicious smells of home cooking, and the even more tantalising and earthy image of Rose, fairly glowing with a kind of erotic domesticity that Zac had never encountered before.

He could remember stumbling into the kitchen of his grandparents’ house one day when he’d been about six and looking around in wonder at this alien place full of delicious smells and people and things. Until his nanny had come and scolded him for wandering off. That had literally been the first time he’d seen a kitchen.

For Rose to unlock some dark, repressed erotic kitchen fantasy was disturbing in the extreme.

He’d only invited her to the opera to shatter that image of her in the kitchen. Anything to put her back in an environment where he’d feel more in control.

But in spite of his best efforts, a sense of control eluded him. Rose sat beside him in the VIP section of Siena’s stunning opera house. It had undergone massive reconstruction in recent years—thanks to a major investment from him—and now the roof was open to the elements and the moon lit up the stage as the opera Tosca was performed.

Rose was wearing a black silk dress. The neckline was scooped, showing what appeared to Zac to be acres of soft pale cleavage, and then it fell from under her bust to the floor. Short capped sleeves drew the eye to her toned upper arms. On any other woman Zac would suspect they came from hours being honed at a gym, but he knew she’d earned them from hours of arduous menial work. As much as he’d prefer to think of her as being lazy or idle, he couldn’t fault her that.

For the first time, Zac had to admit to understanding a sliver of why someone like Rose might seize on a chance to get out of her situation. Yet he still hadn’t seen evidence of someone who was overly avaricious or greedy.

She’d refused to tell him anything about her agreement with his grandmother, so he had no way to know what she’d been promised. If she told him then he could negotiate. On the other hand, if she wanted to pit him against Jocelyn wouldn’t she have told him everything? Perhaps she’d been offered such a huge amount of money that she genuinely believed he couldn’t top it?

The circling questions irritated him intensely, because he was a man who dealt in knowns. Not unknowns. And worse than the questions circling in his head was the burning awareness of her. Her scent…those curves, more pronounced with her pregnancy. And this primal thing he felt—stronger every time now when he saw her belly. Mine.

It was too reminiscent of that night when he’d taken her innocence…when he’d wanted to brand her, mark her.

It was only when Zac saw Rose clapping enthusiastically, with suspiciously bright eyes, that he realised he’d all but missed the entire performance because he’d been so fixated on her. Again.

Rose had been so lost in the beautiful open-air performance that she’d almost been able to block out the man by her side. Almost. But every now and then his hard thigh had brushed hers, or their elbows had connected. His scent had reached her nostrils when he’d shifted in his seat—which he’d done a lot—and she’d had to grit her jaw to try and stop her body from responding with a fresh wave of awareness and desire. So really she hadn’t blocked him out at all.

Everyone was standing now, and moving, and Rose was embarrassed at the emotion that had taken her unawares. She stood and avoided Zac’s too shrewd eyes, feeling a little raw.

As they joined the throng of people making their way out to the street, someone stepped on Rose’s dress from behind, jerking her backwards. She let out a small yelp of surprise, and suddenly Zac was reaching for her and steadying her, pulling her into his arms. The older man who had stepped on her dress was effusive in his apologies and Rose smiled, saying that it was okay, more shaken by the man holding her now than the almost-fall.

After the apologetic man had left she looked up, heart pounding. Zac seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the crowd had to snake around them to go down the stairs, and that they were drawing more than a few looks.

Her body was slowly going on fire from the inside out…every curve pressed against that hard body. She felt panicky. Why wasn’t he moving back, letting her go? He would see in a second how much she wanted him, and she couldn’t bear that humiliation again.

She tried to pull back, but he only tightened his hold. She could feel the swell of her belly pressed against him, and then the unmistakable hardness of his arousal pushing against it. Her eyes widened as adrenaline and lust shot into her system.

Zac said mockingly, ‘Don’t look so shocked. It’s not as if you’re an innocent any more.’

The memory of that kiss came back…the way he’d looked so cool afterwards, unruffled, when she’d been standing there horribly exposed in her desire. ‘But I…I thought you didn’t…’

‘I think the evidence speaks for itself.’

He moved subtly and Rose almost moaned, hardly hearing his taut admission. She could recognise through the haze of desire that he obviously didn’t welcome it. That much was obvious in his grim expression. It was enough to make Rose jerk free and hurry down the steps.

Zac caught up with her, though, and took her hand, keeping her by his side. He said nothing more as they walked through the busy streets outside the opera house to where a driver was waiting to deliver them back to where the helicopter had landed earlier.

When they reached it, after a tense silence in the back of the car, Zac strapped Rose into the seat, his hands brushing against her sensitive breasts.

She bit her lip—hard—and he saw it. He lifted his hand and with his thumb tugged her lip free, rubbing it.

A pulse throbbed between her legs as she watched Zac walk around and take his seat beside her. He didn’t look at her again, but she had the strangest feeling that some silent dialogue had just passed between them and she’d made some tacit agreement…to what?

She was afraid she knew, much as she’d like to deny it. It was in every pulsing erogenous zone in her body. Engorged with blood and heat.

Anticipation gripped her as the helicopter lowered itself down over the villa grounds, and Rose desperately tried to bring her body back under control. Because she knew that as soon as they got out Zac would look at her with that familiar cool, disdainful expression and she’d have been made a fool. Again. No matter what his body might have said.

Zac’s brooding silence, and the speed with which he drove the Jeep back to the villa, seemed only to confirm Rose’s suspicion that he wanted her out of his sight as soon as possible.

When they stopped, she almost fell out of the Jeep. She was eager to put some distance between them before he saw how jittery she was.

She was almost inside the villa when Zac said from behind her, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

She turned around slowly in the main doorway to see Zac standing in front of the Jeep. He was pulling at his bow tie, undoing it and then flipping open the top button of his shirt.

Rose felt a bead of sweat roll down between her breasts. She could hardly breathe. ‘I’m going to bed…’

Zac’s face was half in the shadows, and when he stepped forward she gasped to see the sheer naked hunger in his gaze. She was rooted to the spot as he came closer, even though she knew she should turn and go.

There was too much between them—too much unsaid and tangled and dark. He hated her. But he wanted her. And she was weak…and she wanted him.

And then he was in front of her, touching her. He placed a hand on her waist and pulled her into him, and the same rogue part of her that had allowed him to seduce her whilst knowing it was unutterably selfish and wicked surged back into life.

And worst of all, as he bent his head and blotted out the world with his mouth on hers, she knew that she was giving in because she desperately wanted to pretend for a few weak moments that perhaps animosity and resentment wasn’t all that Zac felt for her…

Zac’s mouth was on Rose’s and he was drowning in soft sweetness. Her tongue was tangling hotly with his, arms twining around his neck. And he didn’t give a damn about anything else in that moment. Except this. Her. Now.

He knew that if he didn’t move while he still retained some control over his motor functions they might well end up on the ground right there, and he’d waited too long to take her like a rutting animal.

He lifted her into his arms for sheer expediency and walked through the villa, straight to his bedroom suite. The room was in darkness, and Zac lowered Rose to her feet and reached for a light. He wanted to see every inch of her. Laid bare to him. He was done with fighting his desire for her.

When he straightened he took off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor. Not taking his eyes off hers, he undid his shirt and took that off too. As much as he’d have enjoyed her doing it, he was too impatient now.

She was just standing in front of him, looking transfixed, as if she couldn’t really believe where she was. And something glowed in those huge eyes—something he didn’t want to see, because it blurred the present into the past. So he said, ‘Turn around,’ with a roughness to his voice that he didn’t relish. It betrayed too much.

But then she did turn around, and he forgot about anything else. Her zip had been driving him crazy since he’d walked out of the villa behind her at the start of the evening. He pulled it down to where it ended, just above her buttocks. And then he pushed the dress over her shoulders and off, so that it fell to her waist.

Rose’s hair was caught up into a chignon of sorts. He could see where the pins stuck out slightly, as if she’d struggled to tame it. Something about that hint of vulnerability struck him, and it was not welcome. To defuse it, he pulled the pins out and her hair fell around her shoulders. Soft, silky, fragrant. He wanted to run it through his fingers and bury his face in it… He stopped himself. That was the kind of thing crazy, besotted men did.

Instead, he focused on getting her naked. He undid her bra from behind and pushed that over her shoulders too, and then he came close behind her and pulled it down her arms so it fell to the floor.

He cupped her breasts. They were bigger, more beautiful, perfectly shaped. The puckered pink areolae surrounding the nipples were larger too. This evidence of her pregnancy was intensely erotic. He pinched them, softly, and felt Rose quiver against him, sucking in a breath. He kissed her where her neck met her shoulders and the taste of her skin clouded every sense.

When she turned to face him, dislodging his hands, Zac was feeling feral. He yanked off the rest of his clothes and saw Rose push down her dress and underwear until she was fully naked.

On a reflex Zac went to reach for the protection in a drawer by the bed, but then stopped as the realisation dawned on him that he didn’t need it.

He knew that this should actually be making him come to his senses, reminding him of who he was dealing with, but all he could think about was how badly he wanted to sink inside her with no barrier between them.

She was looking at him and he saw uncertainty in her expression. His gaze dropped down, taking in the luscious dips and curves, and one curve in particular: the swell of her belly.

Acting on an impulse he couldn’t ignore, he reached out and touched her there, spreading his hand over the swell. It was still soft…but he could feel the hardness just underneath.

An unknown emotion gripped him, making him feel powerful in a way he’d never experienced before—and also humble. For a crazy moment he wanted to drop to his knees and press his mouth to her there, to wrap his arms tight around her… The desire was so strong that it nearly felled him.

‘Zac…?’

He looked up and the feeling passed. Lust engulfed him. He gave in to it with a sense of relief. ‘Lie back on the bed, Rose.’

The uncertain expression left her face, to be replaced by something more like anticipation. She sat down and Zac put a hand on himself, feeling the drop of moisture at the head of his erection.

But then something dark rose up inside him. He wanted to obliterate what he’d just been feeling and he stepped forward, relishing Rose’s avid gaze on his body.

Just when she’d started to move back to lie on the bed, he said, ‘Wait—I want you to take me in your mouth. Taste me, Rose.’

She looked up at him and he saw the flare in her eyes, along with that uncertainty again. Every cell was crying out for her touch. The beast inside him roared for full release, but he needed this more right now—needed her mouth on him in a classic supplicant pose, as if that might dilute some of the intensity swirling in his gut.

She reached out a tentative hand and he took his own hand away so she could wrap her fingers around him. He sucked in a breath to see that small pale hand around his hard flesh. ‘Stroke me.’ For pity’s sake, he almost howled.

She moved her hand up and down, eyes widening as she saw how he thickened even more. Her thumb swiped over its head, spreading the fluid, and Zac had to bite down on his tongue.

And then, with a quick glance upwards, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. She was awkward at first, but that, coupled with the knowledge that this was the first time she was doing this was tantamount to having one of the world’s most experienced lovers take him into her expert mouth.

She sucked, stroked and licked until Zac honestly didn’t know how he was still standing. His hands were buried in her hair. He was a heartbeat away from holding her still so he could thrust into her mouth and find his release at last. But there, teetering on the edge, something stopped him.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t demand that she milk him like this…

He pulled free of her mouth and she released him, looking up, eyes unfocused. No woman had ever looked at him like that…as if she’d got off on it too. He gently deposited her in the middle of the bed, coming down beside her, every nerve and cell taut with anticipation.

He spread her legs with one hand, feeling more animal than man, and explored the slick evidence of her readiness. It was all he could do not to thrust in, harder and deeper than he ever had before, but he moved over her, mindful of the vulnerable swell of her belly that impacted upon him somewhere he chose to ignore, and lodged himself between her spread legs. He forced himself to go slowly. It was torture…delicious torture…as inch by inch he felt her hot sheath accept him and clasp him tight.

When he was so deep he could barely breathe, her whole body arched like a bow against his, and she let out a long, low groan.

Zac couldn’t move for a moment. Had anything ever felt so perfect? No. And then he started to move, and perfection was eclipsed.

Rose’s eyes were shut tight as he lifted one of her thighs, hooking her leg around his hip. ‘Look at me,’ Zac demanded.

She opened them, and he willed her to keep looking as he drove into her again and again and again. The intense battle of wills was won when she started raking his back with her nails, her body quivering and shaking against his as she pleaded hoarsely for release.

Only then did Zac unleash the demon inside him, and their worlds collided in a shattering explosion of tension that was almost fearsome in its intensity.

Hours later Zac sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the dawn breaking over the Tuscan hills, a faint mist clinging to the earth before it would be burned off by the sun.

He felt turned inside out—undone, exposed. There was movement behind him on the bed and he stood up, reaching for his trousers. He heard a sleepy and sexy-sounding, ‘Zac…? Where are you going?’ and knew what he had to do.

He’d let his guard down here in Italy. He’d told Rose too much the other night, and this was proof that given half a chance she would insert herself under his skin until she was in so deep he’d never get her out again.

He turned around. She was raised on one elbow, the sheet barely covering her lush breasts. He recalled how it had felt to drive into that perfect heat and feel the press of her swollen belly against him. Predictably his body responded, and a sense of desperation filled him.

‘I’m not going anywhere—but you are. You’re going back to New York today.’

CHAPTER NINE

THE IRONY THAT Rose was flying over the land of her parents was not lost on her as she looked out of the plane’s window. Unfortunately she was too high to see anything of the green island, but her heart ached for her mother and her father.

She’d called the clinic soon after Zac’s private plane had taken off and had spoken to her father. The operation was taking place in just over a week—a couple of days after Zac was due back in New York. Her father had sounded in good spirits, and that, at least, was some balm to her ravaged spirit.

Ravaged because she now knew that she’d lost herself body, heart and soul to Zac Valenti. And he didn’t want to know.

He’d stood in front of her that morning and every line of his body had screamed regret for what had happened the previous night. Regret and rejection.

And then she’d made it worse, because her body had still felt the bliss of his touch and she’d foolishly thought that she had to try and reach him…to make him understand. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought that he believed she’d wanted to do this to him.

She’d knelt on the bed, the sheet pulled around her, and said, ‘You have to believe me when I say that I truly never wanted to betray you, Zac.’

His face had assumed that mask of indifference she hated.

‘You say you didn’t want to do it, but you did. So which is it, Rose? I’m not in the mood for riddles.’

The words had trembled on her tongue. She’d ached to blurt out the whole sad and sorry story. To confess about her father… But under that infinitely cold gaze, even while her body had still held the memory of his blazing touch, she’d felt insecure. Unsure. How could he flip so easily between cold and heat? He just wanted her. He didn’t care about her. And she just couldn’t take the risk that he wouldn’t care what happened to her father.

She’d felt defeated and had sunk back down. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she’d said.

Zac had shaken his head. ‘You clearly have an agenda here, Rose, and I know what it is.’

‘You do?’

He nodded. ‘I think you’re going to wait until the baby is born and then you’re going to pit me against my grandmother. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to sell my baby to the highest bidder… But you’ll wait until then—until we all know exactly what’s at stake.’

Shock and horror had coursed through her as Zac had paced towards her and his expression had grown even harder. Hard enough to strip away any sense of civility.

‘I’ve already told you I’ll do whatever it takes to bring my child up as a Valenti. And if that means ruining myself in the process, to pay the highest price, I’ll do it. I’ve done it before and I survived. I can do it again.’

Zac had stepped back then, and Rose had felt the very physical wave of his sheer animosity and hatred. Despite last night, nothing had changed. Things were actually worse. He resented her for what he saw as his weakness. A weakness of the flesh. And her heart had contracted into a small ball in her chest, as if that could offer some protection.

Zac had said finally, ‘This is the last discussion we will have on this topic until the baby is born—and, believe me, when it is I’ll be ready to fight for custody, Rose.’ He’d continued in a clipped voice. ‘When you return to New York you’ll move into the adjoining apartment to mine for the remainder of your pregnancy. We can communicate through my assistants.’

Zac had gone before Rose had been able to get over the shock of his pronouncement, and his helicopter had been taking off from the villa before she’d been able to find him again.

To say what? she mocked herself now. To say everything she should have had the guts to say before, she realised now. Far too late.

She’d been wrong about him. He was as ruthless as his grandmother, yes, but he was the one with valid reasons. What they had done to him and his parents had been unthinkably cruel.

They hadn’t actually killed his parents, but as good as. And they’d deprived Zac of the opportunity of knowing the two people who’d loved him most. All because of their snobbishness and their zeal for continuing the precious family line. And protecting their vast wealth.

Rose could understand now why it was so important to him to be a part of his child’s life. He wouldn’t do anything to harm this child. He would love it. Nurture it. Even if he would always hate her for betraying him.

Rose knew what she had to do now. She knew it wouldn’t change anything between her and Zac, but it would give him back his power and it would ensure that their child was brought up honouring his or her grandparents. Their true grandparents.

Reaction prickled across Zac’s skin as soon as he walked into his apartment almost a week later. He stopped just inside the door. She was here. She hadn’t left as he’d told her to. Her scent was still in the air.

He felt that betraying little hum of electricity in his blood that had been missing since she’d left Italy.

He didn’t want to see her.

He knew it was irrational, but the memory of her kneeling on the bed with the sheet clutched to her breasts that morning as she’d entreated him had pushed him right over the edge.

He’d still been raw after the previous night. And so he’d told her that she had to move out before he’d even been aware of the impulse. Something had knotted tight in his gut—an intense rejection of her attempt to try and take advantage of the intimacy that shouldn’t have happened.

He should never have given in to his base desires in Italy. It was as if she was some kind of a witch…stealing slice after slice of his soul until soon there’d be nothing left but a husk of a man. A shell.

Damn her. And damn himself for not being strong enough to resist her. He’d known she was treacherous—he’d known it. But he’d had to have her. An unquenchable fire had taken hold that he’d had to douse or die. But sleeping with her had only escalated the hunger inside him.

He’d had disturbing dreams since she’d left: Rose in a hospital bed, her golden hair flowing around her shoulders. Face pink from labour. A huge smile curving that lush mouth. Eyes wide with wonder as she looked down at a downy dark head nestled at her bare breast. Then she looked up at Zac, and a feeling of such wonder, yearning and awe filled him that he couldn’t move.

Rose had frowned slightly in the dream, and put out a hand as if to beckon him, but Zac’s feet had started moving backwards against his will. He’d wanted to reach out, he’d wanted to go to them…but they’d been fading…and then Rose had dropped her hand and just shrugged slightly, as if she wasn’t that bothered, devoting her attention back to the baby.

Zac rubbed his chest absently, unaware that he was trying to assuage a heavy, tight feeling. And then he dropped his hand. Enough. This was where it ended and he began to get back some control of his life.

He moved forward through the door to the apartment and stepped inside. Rose was sitting on the couch, and when she saw him she stood up. She looked pale, determined. And even though he’d known she was there, reaction still slammed into his body like a wrecking ball.

‘I thought I told you to move out by the time I got back?’

He walked straight over to the living room bar and helped himself to a measure of whisky.

‘I have.’ Her voice came from behind him. Quiet.

He turned around. ‘So? To what do I owe the honour?’

He saw how some colour came into her cheeks at his tone, and then she said, ‘I need to speak to you for a few minutes.’

Zac looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a charity function to attend—can’t it wait?’

Rose stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her. ‘It won’t take long. I need to explain something to you… Well, everything, actually.’

Something inside Zac went very still at the intensity of her gaze. As much as he was itching to get out of her far too disturbing orbit, he was also intrigued.

‘My car is picking me up in half an hour. You’ve got fifteen minutes.’

Rose cursed her jumping nerves, self-conscious in her jeans and plain shirt. Zac clearly didn’t welcome seeing her here, and that had hurt more than she’d thought it would. But she knew that if she didn’t do this now she’d lose her nerve. And she wanted to tell him before his grandmother had a chance to get to him. She’d taken a huge gamble earlier today and she had to pray she’d done the right thing, putting her trust in Zac. Her father’s life depended on it.

‘Well?’

He’d put down his glass and was standing with his hands in his suit pockets, legs spread. Intimidating. Powerful. It galvanised her to put some distance between them and she went and stood close to the windows.

She faced him again from across the safer distance, took a breath, and dived in. ‘Your grandmother came to me with the plan to set you up.’

Zac’s face darkened with impatience. ‘It was either you or her, and to be quite frank it doesn’t really matter who initiated it. Look, if you’re not going to tell me something new—’

Emotion rose up inside Rose as she choked out, ‘It does matter. And I need to tell you why I said yes in the first place—’ She stopped abruptly and took a breath. ‘It was for my father.’

The words hung in the air between them.

Zac frowned. ‘What’s your father got to do with this?’

Rose’s legs were feeling shaky, so she sat down again on the nearest chair. She looked at Zac and said helplessly, ‘Everything.’

He stared at her, and she half expected him to walk out, but he didn’t.

He said grimly, ‘Go on.’

‘If I tell you what I’m going to tell you I need you to promise me something first.’

His mouth tightened. ‘You’re really not in a position to bargain.’

Rose stood up again. She had to be strong for this. ‘I want this baby to be a Valenti too, Zac. I don’t want any part in your grandmother’s scheme. But if I’m to go against her for you, and this baby, I need you to match what she was paying me.’

Zac got angry. ‘Now you’re willing to negotiate?’

He paced back and forth, energy crackling across the space between them.

‘It’s not a negotiation.’

Her voice rang out, harsher than she’d ever heard it. And it stopped Zac too.

She went on. ‘The reason I could never tell you the price she paid me is because this was never about money—’

‘Oh, please—’

‘It wasn’t,’ she said, in the face of his blatant disbelief.

‘If it wasn’t about money then what was it about?’

Rose felt numbness stealing over her, cushioning her slightly from Zac’s blistering impatience. ‘My father is ill. Very ill. He needs an operation on his heart and it’s one of the most expensive operations in the world. He was a driver for your family for years. You know him.’

Rose could see Zac trying to compute this information, and eventually he said incredulously, ‘Séamus O’Malley? He’s your father?’

Rose nodded, feeling emotional. ‘Yes. It started a few months ago. He wasn’t feeling well and we couldn’t figure out what was wrong. After tests the doctors realised that it was his heart. He told me the results over the phone when I was at work in your grandmother’s house. Our insurance is basic, at best. It was devastating news, because we knew we could never afford the operation he needed.’

Rose continued.

‘But before I go any further I need your promise that you’ll take over the care of my father, protect him from any possible repercussions that come out of my telling you everything. He’s due to have the operation in two days. If he doesn’t have it he won’t last until the end of the year—’

Her voice had cracked on the last words, but Zac appeared unmoved.

‘Why should I do this?’

‘Because he’s an innocent party in this. He doesn’t deserve to suffer because of my mistakes.’

Zac prowled towards her, his face darkening. ‘Oh, so I’m a mistake now?’

Rose flushed. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant the mistake of letting your grandmother use me as a pawn to get to you, and then everything getting out of control.’

Zac stopped. Even though feet still separated them, she could feel his physical pull on her.

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I’ll have to check what you say is true.’

‘Of course.’ She seized on even the slightest chance that he might do this. ‘And then will you help him?’ Rose thought she’d get down on her knees if she had to.

Zac was silent for so long that she felt the spark of hope wither inside her… Perhaps she’d misjudged him. He wouldn’t unbend. Not for her—not for anyone.

She was about to admit defeat and retreat when he nodded once, curtly. ‘If your father truly is ill and he played no part in this, then, yes, I will help him. Now, tell me. Everything.’

For a moment the relief Rose felt was almost overwhelming. And then she registered Zac’s impatience. He was waiting for her to speak.

She struggled to formulate her thoughts, aware that she was on borrowed time. ‘When I found out about my father I was upset. Your grandmother found me crying in one of the bedrooms. At first she was annoyed that I wasn’t working, but then when I explained why I was upset she seemed to get interested…’

Rose knew she didn’t have to go into the minutiae. Zac got it. His grandmother had seen an opportunity and seized it.

‘She presented me with a plan to go to a function and deliberately contrive to meet you. She spoke about seducing you…getting pregnant…but in all honesty I was so distraught that half of what she said barely made sense. And then, when it sank in, I truly believed that the chances of the plan actually working were slim to none. I have no defence for even contemplating what she proposed for me to do except to say that I was panicking and she was telling me that she would pay for my father to have the operation he needed. She had the contracts and non-disclosure agreements drawn up by the next day… Even as I signed them I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I was so scared for my father.’

Zac was still giving nothing away with his expression.

Rose forged on. ‘I spent most of that evening we met hiding in the hotel bathroom. I realised I couldn’t do it. It was crazy. I was totally out of my depth. And I was terrified of actually meeting you… I hoped you’d left, that I could tell your grandmother it hadn’t worked…’

Zac’s gaze dropped to Rose’s waist and he said, in a voice stripped bare of expression, ‘But we did meet.’

Rose put a hand over her belly. ‘Yes.’

He looked back up. ‘And then we met again—and not by chance.’

She flushed with shame. ‘No, not by chance. But not by my choice either. After I left you that first night I wrote a note to your grandmother telling her I couldn’t go through with it, including my resignation. I went home to Queens and resolved to try and look after my father myself, even if I had to work five jobs… But then she came and found me a week later… She told me you’d been looking for me—’

Rose faltered, afraid of Zac’s reaction to that, but he remained stony-faced.

She went on, ‘She reminded me that I’d signed legal documents and that if I didn’t go through with the plan she’d sue me. I was afraid she’d do even worse things, like fight me for custody.’

Zac almost exploded. ‘Anyone would know that she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in a court of law if it came to fighting the rights of the biological mother.’

Rose went so hot with instant humiliation that she could feel sweat break out all over her body. And anger gripped her too, surging forth like water from a dam that had broken after too much pressure.

‘How on earth was I supposed to know that? I’m a maid, Zac. I left high-school at seventeen with no qualifications. When one of the world’s richest women stands in front of you with a signed document, it’s pretty hard not to believe that she has the power to annihilate you. Plus she made me sign a non-disclosure agreement—which is why I believed I couldn’t tell you anything.’

Rose was breathing hard after her outburst, and realised her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. She consciously relaxed them and tried to regain control. Zac’s slightly stunned expression was no comfort. She was shaking from the adrenaline rush of anger and of defending herself for the first time to this man.

But then the expression on his face closed again, became obdurate. As much as Rose wanted to crawl somewhere safe and lick her wounds, she knew she had to keep going—bare herself completely.

She lifted her chin. ‘The truth is that as much as she was coercing me to comply with threats of legal action… I wanted to see you again. It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, going back to your apartment with you that day, but I thought…I believed that I could have that moment…that as long as I made sure you used protection…’

She fell silent under the weight of the evidence that all her good intentions hadn’t protected her—or them.

As if reading her mind, Zac said, ‘As interesting as all of this sounds, I’m inclined to see the fact that you did get pregnant as a somewhat calculated part of the plan, no matter how reluctant you say you were to go along with it.’

Rose fought down a feeling of despair. It had always been a long shot that Zac would believe her—but at least he’d listened and had agreed to take care of her father. That had to be enough for now. She didn’t see the point in telling him that she’d been face to face with his grandmother that afternoon. He would find out soon enough.

He folded his arms. ‘If I do this and help your father, how do I know you won’t turn around and fight me for custody of my child?’

She felt incredibly weary now. ‘Because I’m putting my father’s life in your hands. And I’m telling you that I want my baby to have your name. Your rightful name. I’ll sign anything you want.’

Zac’s mouth twisted. ‘I think we can safely say that you’ve proved how adept you are at that, at least.’

His phone rang in his pocket then, and he cursed as he looked at his watch and then back to her.

‘I need to go to this function. I’m giving the keynote speech.’ He reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a card. ‘Call my assistant and give him all your father’s details. Once I’m satisfied that he’s an innocent party I’ll arrange for his care to be put in my name.’

Just like that. Weeks of agonising, and now the thought that she might possibly have told Zac everything from the start made emotion rise up inside her, twisting her heart in her chest.

She took the card, and he was almost out through the door when Rose managed to get out a strangled-sounding, ‘Wait…’

He stopped and turned again. His face was stark. No emotion. When she felt as if someone had just ripped her guts out.

‘I just…’ Rose faltered under that cool regard. She just…what? ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen like this.’

She still refused to regret becoming pregnant, but she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate hearing that right now.

‘I’m not sure you didn’t, Rose, but you’ve told me enough for now. As you say, your father shouldn’t be punished for your actions.’

And then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him. Rose sank down on the couch behind her, suddenly weak as the overload of adrenaline left her system. She was trembling all over, like a shock victim.

The cool lack of emotion in his eyes just now scored at her already raw insides like a knife. The fact that he would never believe she hadn’t set out to trap him deliberately, regardless of what she’d told him, was devastating.

In the shattering aftermath of their lovemaking in Italy she’d truly believed that maybe he felt something for her beyond resentment. There had been glimmers of an accord… But obviously it had just been her pathetic wishful thinking.

But still a tiny bud of hope refused to die. If there was any chance at all that she could persuade Zac that she’d never wanted to betray him, then wasn’t it worth a try? Even if she had to tell him how she felt to convince him. Even if that prospect made her feel weak all over again.

She knew that if she hadn’t fallen for him in the first place—probably from the moment she’d laid eyes on him—then this chain of events would never have happened. It was the fact that she’d wanted him so much for herself that had led to this, and she owed it to him to make that clear.

Filled with determination, and with her heart pounding, Rose went into what had been her bedroom and rummaged through the wardrobe until she found what she was looking for.

Zac wasn’t sure what he’d said during the keynote speech, but it must have been the right thing because people were coming up and slapping him on the back, making all the right noises and responses.

He wasn’t sure what he’d said because his brain was still trying to assimilate everything Rose had told him. She wanted him to believe that she’d done it all for her sick father.

He remembered Séamus O’Malley. He’d always been nice to Zac, and had let him sit up at the front of the car when his grandparents hadn’t been around. His accent used to fascinate Zac, and he would tell him stories of Ireland and tales of great Irish warriors.

It unnerved him now, how vivid those memories still were.

But if everything Rose had said was true, then why the hell hadn’t she just told him from the start? Of course he would have helped her father. Could he really believe that she’d been all but blackmailed by his grandmother into trapping him with a pregnancy?

All Zac had to do was think of his grandmother’s cold, imperious face and one word resounded in his head: yes.

Rose’s impassioned defence when he’d questioned her intelligence came back now, too, and he felt his chest grow tight. He took this world for granted, but he knew powerful people could be intimidating—and there was nothing more intimidating than the threat of legal action, especially when you couldn’t afford it.

Suddenly the conversation around him stopped and a familiar scent reached his nostrils. His companions were looking at someone behind him and he turned around slowly. His eyes widened incredulously.

Rose stood before him in the same black dress she’d worn the first night they’d met. It shimmered and clung to every curve, and to the small proud swell of her belly. Dimly he recognised that it had grown bigger in just the space of a week, and the knowledge made him feel as if something was slipping a mooring inside him.

Her hair was down, she wore no make-up, yet she was luminous. Ethereal. His fey enchantress. His betrayer.

His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. ‘What are you doing here?’

She came closer. ‘I need to say something else.’

Aware of the spike in interest around them, Zac said tersely, ‘Now is hardly the time to continue this conversation.’

He saw the pulse at the base of her neck beating hectically and his own blood throbbed in response.

‘Now is as good a time as any.’

Zac was aware of the keen interest of everyone around them and took Rose’s arm in his hand, pulling her away from prying eyes and flapping ears.

He walked her over to a quieter spot and let her go. ‘Well? What’s so important it couldn’t wait?’

She took a deep breath, which made her breasts rise against the dress. Distracting.

‘I need you to know that there was always so much more to this for me—from the first night we met. The last thing I wanted to do was betray you…or derail your life… Even when I knew I was being unconscionably selfish in going back to your apartment with you that day, I told myself that you’d make sure we were protected. I thought I could take a sliver of what you were offering and then walk away and never see you again. It would be my secret, to hold tight forever.’

She gestured to the dress with a jerky movement.

‘I just wanted to try and show you that the girl you met that night was the girl you thought I was. Unbelievably naive and gauche. But I was caught up in something I didn’t know how to navigate. And yes, there was an agenda, but I hated every moment of the deception.’

She grabbed his hand then and placed it over her small belly. He could feel her trembling.

‘The truth is that I fell in love with you, Zac, and I don’t regret for a second that we’re having this baby, no matter how it came about, because for me this baby will be born out of love.’

This baby will be born out of love.

For a second Zac’s chest swelled with something that felt scarily euphoric. And then he remembered… No matter what she said, this baby had been conceived in deception. And treachery. The fact was that she was pregnant, so she could say what she liked. She had him trapped.

A memory surfaced of how reverent he’d felt when he’d touched Rose that afternoon she’d come back to his apartment. It had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before. How awed he’d been by her apparent honesty…

But she hadn’t been remotely honest… She’d known exactly what she was doing. And at no point had she attempted to come clean.

Rose had had the last week to think things through, and Zac had to concede that she was nothing if not enterprising. He took his hand from under hers and ignored the way that small hard swell had evoked a need in him to protect. It was a need to protect his unborn child from her.

Coolly, he said, ‘I don’t appreciate this public stunt.’

Rose frowned. ‘It’s not a stunt.’

Zac lifted a hand. ‘Please—I don’t want to hear it.’

She took a step back and looked at him. ‘You still don’t trust me.’

He emitted a half-laugh. ‘Trust? You think a public declaration of love and remorse will convince me to take leave of my senses altogether?’ He shook his head. ‘You really don’t have to do this, you know. It’s overkill. Once you sign the contract put together by my legal team I’ll make sure you’re comfortable for the rest of your life. You’ve realised that as the baby’s father I was always going to win in any battle against my grandmother and you’re just switching your allegiance. I get it. I recognise someone bent on survival because I’ve been there too.’

Rose just looked at him. He could see the light in her eyes dimming. The light of hope, it occurred to him, bizarrely, and for a moment he almost forgot and reached out to grab her. She’d gone so pale…

But then she took another step back and smiled woodenly. ‘You have to admit it was worth a try,’ she said.

It felt as if something was cracking in Zac’s chest. Something that had no right to exist. Because it meant that on some level he still had a fatal weakness for this woman and that a part of him had wanted those words to be true.

Ridiculous.

As a five-year-old boy Zac had impulsively hugged his grandmother one day, only to have her push him away so hard he’d fallen and hit his head on a table.

She’d stood over him and said, ‘Don’t ever touch me like that again—do you hear?’

He had to force a smile now, because it didn’t come easily. ‘It’s always worth a try, Rose.’

And then he turned and walked back into the crowd, and hated that it was the hardest thing in the world not to look back and see her face.

When he finally returned to the group he’d been with before and did look back, she was gone.

As Rose packed her things a short while later, in the apartment beside Zac’s, she was still in a state of something like stoical numbness. The fact that she’d gone there in that dress, in public, and had all but prostrated herself at his feet had meant nothing. Changed nothing.

She’d told him how she felt and it had been like a scene in a sci-fi movie, with bullets bouncing off an invisible membrane, uselessly.

The fact that she’d so weakly taken the opportunity to let him give her an out, by agreeing with his accusation that it was just an act, was something she was not going to beat herself up over now. She had a lifetime for that.

Her child would be her main focus now. And her father.

She took a last look around the room. The black dress was draped across the bed and this time she wouldn’t be taking it with her, because it was the last reminder she wanted. Then she picked up her bag and walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

‘IT LOOKS LIKE she’s telling the truth, Zac. Her father’s operation is tomorrow. And there’s been no other transfer of funds that we can find. It’s literally just the hospital costs. We’ve no reason to believe her father is involved in any way.’

Zac sat in his chair in his office, hands steepled under his chin. With a mounting feeling of vague dread in his belly he said, ‘Okay, thanks, Simon. Will you see to it that all the costs are taken care of?’

‘Of course—and do you still want to go ahead with the contract you outlined?’

‘Yes, as soon as possible.’ Even though that made him feel uneasy now too.

‘Consider it done.’

When the call was terminated Zac stood up and went over to the window, feeling restless. On edge. He could see the Statue of Liberty. And the Brooklyn Bridge. It was from here that he had overseen his resurrection. And yet now the sense of accomplishment he usually felt didn’t fizz in his veins.

All he could see was Rose’s face last night, when that light had dimmed in her eyes and she’d said in a brittle voice, ‘It was worth a try.’

When he’d returned to his apartment there had been no trace of her apart from the faintest lingering of her scent. Even that had had an effect on him. Enough to make him come up with some half-baked excuse to go to the adjoining apartment and knock on the door.

When there’d been no answer the concierge had let him in and Zac had prowled the rooms, as restless as a panther. She hadn’t been there either. All the clothes he’d bought her had been hanging up neatly. And the black dress had lain across the bed in the master suite. A mocking reminder of the lengths she’d gone to.

Panic mixed with anger had roiled in his gut. Suspicion had mounted that she’d gone back to his grandmother’s, figuring she could battle him for custody from there, but then he’d seen a piece of paper on the table by the door with his name on it.

Zac, thank you for the offer of the apartment but I’ll be more comfortable at home in Queens. I’m going to be with my father at the clinic until after his operation, and then, when he comes home, I’ll help him recuperate, if all goes well.

As you didn’t want to see me anyway, I’m sure you can’t find fault with this. I’ll be in touch once the baby is born to let you know everything is okay, and perhaps then we can discuss plans to go forward.

In the meantime you can send the contract, or any other correspondence to my Queens address.

Rose

Just thinking of the letter now made Zac feel sicker. And he hated it. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d said he wanted? For her to all but disappear from his life?

She’d offered him the perfect out, and once she signed the contract he was having drawn up he’d be able to rest assured that his child would be brought up a Valenti. He would have what he wanted and he could get on with his life… So why did he feel so antsy? And why did he keep thinking of what she’d said about the night they’d met?

‘I hoped you’d be gone, but then we met… I truly didn’t want to betray you…’

It made him remember how she’d looked when he’d first seen her—as if she’d wanted to escape.

And then how time and time again she’d told him she had to go, only for him to persuade her to stay, beguiling her. Cajoling. Seducing.

Disgusted with himself for ruminating on this, and for allowing doubts to fester, Zac turned around—just as his office door opened with a bang and the last person in the world he wanted to see walked through it, with his assistant in an obvious flap behind her.

‘Zac, I’m so sorry. I told her you weren’t to be disturbed but she wouldn’t listen.’

He managed to say coolly, ‘It’s fine, Daniel. You can leave us.’ He added with an edge as his anger mounted, ‘I think I can manage my grandmother.’

The door closed and Zac looked at the woman who had shoved him aside rather than let him offer her any affection. She was only five foot two, but to Zac as a child she had appeared a giant. Not any more.

A cold, hard hatred settled in his belly. No matter what Rose had done, this woman was the real architect behind the plan. Ever since her husband had died she’d become even more zealous about the family name. As if she could still try to please her dead husband.

Zac folded his arms over his chest and said, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure, Grandmother dearest?’

Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt, clad in a pristine designer suit, was white in the face and vibrating with barely concealed fury. Zac might have enjoyed her agitation if he’d felt more relaxed, but he had a bad sense of foreboding.

She stalked towards him on thin legs and threw down a sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘You can tell that little tart of yours that I didn’t appreciate her visit yesterday, and that she’ll be facing the full might of my legal team if she thinks she can break the contract she signed with me. Not to mention the non-disclosure agreement. Needless to say the press will have a field-day when they discover that she set out to deliberately seduce you for her own gain.’

The dread Zac had been feeling solidified in his gut. He looked down at the sheaf of papers on his desk. Torn-up papers. Legalese language: I the undersigned do hereby agree to… I agree never to disclose…

He looked at his grandmother, his brain locking on to one thing. ‘She visited you?’

The older woman’s too-smooth face couldn’t show her full fury, but it came through in her shaking voice. ‘She had the gall to come into my house and demand to see me—to tell me that she wanted her baby to be a Valenti. She’s a romantic and naive fool indeed if she heard your sob story and now thinks that you can offer her some sort of a happy ending. We both know that doesn’t exist—don’t we, Zachary?’

We both know that doesn’t exist…

Zac felt as if someone had just shocked him back to life… Hadn’t he on some level, ever since he’d learnt about his parents, hoped that it did exist? Hadn’t he based his whole resurrection on some kind of hope for…more?

He hadn’t let himself believe in it in an emotional sense—too cowardly after a lifetime of being denied love—so he’d channelled it into his work. Believing that power would fill the gap of more.

And then he’d met Rose and the gap had opened again—painfully—showing him that he did want so much more, and to believe in purity and honesty. Until he’d found out that she’d betrayed him and he’d felt like an abject fool.

He walked around the desk to his grandmother and bit out, ‘When did she come to see you?’

She glared up at him. ‘That’s all you care about? When you know I can crush you and your reputation to pieces?’

He restrained himself from shaking her. ‘Old woman, tell me now—or, so help me God, I’ll bury the name of Lyndon-Holt so deep that it’ll never be spoken of again or remembered.’

Something of his deadly cold fury seemed to get through to her and she said grudgingly, ‘Yesterday afternoon.’ Her voice became vitriolic. ‘She didn’t even want money, stupid girl. She just wanted her father’s operation to be paid for. I should have known then she was a useless sentimental fool, and I had my doubts—especially when she left her sorry little note saying that she couldn’t go through with it—but then I forced her to meet you again and she actually got pregnant…’

Zac turned to ice. He couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Everything slid into terrifying, horrifying place. Rose really had been just an innocent, scared woman. Very naive, yes, but innocent. Dear God, above all innocent.

He managed to restrain himself from exploding and said frigidly, ‘First of all, she is not stupid. Not even remotely. Second of all, you found a distraught, upset employee and you took advantage of her. You used her sick father’s life to manipulate her. And you have the temerity to judge her?’

Zac’s voice had risen almost to a roar by the end.

Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt’s cold blue eyes narrowed on her grandson. No hint of love or emotion. She said disdainfully, ‘You really are your mother’s son, aren’t you? Repeating history all over again. You’ve fallen for a naive little innocent when you could have had everything, Zachary. There would have been no limit to where you could have ended up.’

Zac just shook his head. He thought of himself looking back to where he’d left Rose in that ballroom the previous evening and seeing nothing but an empty space. He thought of the empty apartment and her note.

‘You’re right, you know,’ he said bleakly. ‘I could have had everything but I let it go. Now, get out of my sight—before I have you thrown out.’

Rose held her father’s hand in hers. Tears blurred her vision when he opened his eyes and squinted at her, saying croakily, ‘Roisín, is that you, love?’

She brushed away the tears. ‘Yes, Dad, it’s me. I’m right here.’

He sounded wonderstruck, his eyes clearing. He looked around. ‘It’s over, then? And I’m still alive?’

Rose let out a half-laugh full of relief and gratitude. ‘Yes, it’s over. And, yes, you’re alive. You did amazingly. The doctor said you’ve got another thirty years in you, at least.’

‘Oh, now…’ her father said, with a tired but relieved smile. ‘Sure, what would I be doing with another thirty years?’

She took his hand and put it on her belly. She said emotionally, ‘Well, for a start, you’ll be helping me with Junior and telling him or her all about where they come from.’

‘So it wasn’t a dream, then?’

She shook her head and forced a smile. No, it hadn’t been a dream. It was a bit of a nightmare, actually, now that she’d have to figure out how best to deal with Zac and the inevitable repercussions from having stood up to Mrs Lyndon-Holt. But for the moment things were good. Her father was safe and that was all that mattered. She would worry about the rest later.

Her father frowned. ‘The father, Roisín—’

Rose said quickly, ‘Shh… Don’t be thinking about that now. I’ll tell you about him when you’re feeling stronger.’ She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then pulled back. ‘Get some rest now—you need it.’

It was a sign of his weakness that he didn’t push the subject but just emitted a harumph and slipped back into sleep.

Rose stood up, her muscles aching from sitting by his bed for so long while she’d waited for him to come round from the anaesthetic. She sent him one last look and made sure all his monitors and wires seemed to be functioning okay, then slipped out of the room.

She was exhausted. Relieved, but exhausted. And, as much as she didn’t feel like it, she needed to eat. Ever since the other night her appetite had disappeared, but she resolutely turned her mind away from going back down that road.

She’d already set off down the corridor when she remembered she’d left her purse in her father’s room. She turned around to go back—and walked straight into a wall. A wall that had its hands on her arms, steadying her. A wall that had a very familiar scent. A wall that wasn’t really a wall.

She looked up and her head swam. The wall was Zac Valenti.

She blinked. He was still there. She was very afraid she was on the verge of fainting for the first time in her life and she sucked in a breath.

Zac gripped her tighter. ‘Rose? Are you okay?’

She pulled herself together, but she knew she was way too light-headed to deal with Zac right now—if she wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating. ‘I’m just hungry. I need to eat something.’

With typical Zac-like efficiency Rose found herself sitting at a table under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting of the clinic’s canteen within minutes. He had put a bowl of admittedly dubious-looking spaghetti bolognese in front of her and was looking at her.

Tightly he said, ‘It was the most edible-looking thing there. Eat some.’

Too exhausted to deal with the reality that he was there, she dutifully ate some of the rubbery pasta and washed it down with water. When she felt a little more fortified she said warily, ‘Why are you here, Zac?’

He sat back in the chair, his body huge against the functional furniture. ‘I wanted to make sure that your father was doing okay.’

Rose felt heat climb into her face and she said, ‘Thank you. The clinic told me that you’d taken over the bills from your grandmother. You really don’t know what this—’

‘Stop,’ he said, cutting her off and sitting up straight. He looked a little angry. ‘You don’t have to say thank you. My grandmother had no right to take such advantage of you. Your father had been her employee—the least he deserved was help in his time of need.’

Rose had to stop her jaw from dropping. She wanted to pinch herself. Because she had to be dreaming.

As if Zac could read her thoughts, he grimaced slightly. ‘Look, the other night…at that function…it was hard for me to trust that you were telling the truth.’

Rose’s heart thudded painfully. ‘And you do now?’

He nodded, and Rose’s insides swooped.

‘What happened?’

Zac sighed. ‘I was beginning to suspect I’d got it all wrong, and then my grandmother came to see me. She told me that you’d ripped up the contract in front of her and declared your intention to have this child be a Valenti. When I came back from Italy and you explained everything, I didn’t know that you’d already been to her. You’d burnt your bridges and I didn’t realise it. Why didn’t you tell me?’ He sounded almost accusing now.

Rose said weakly, ‘I went to see her first because I needed you to know that I’d put my trust in you even before I’d had a chance to put forward my case. But when you came back I was nervous…scared of how you’d react. It didn’t seem relevant to mention your grandmother once you’d agreed to help my father.’

Zac’s voice had a bleak tone to it. ‘No, your first thought wasn’t to maximise your own defence—it was for your father.’ Then he asked curiously, ‘What would you have done if I’d said no?’

Rose shrugged minutely, ashamed now of this evidence that she’d trusted him so implicitly. ‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.’

Zac just looked at her for an unnervingly long moment, and then he said, ‘When we first met…you blew me away. I’d never met anyone like you. I believed you were who you said you were. And then…I felt like a fool. It merely confirmed for me that nothing so pure could exist.’

Rose felt emotion rising. ‘But it did—I did—as messed up as it was. And I couldn’t say anything because I was terrified of what your grandmother could do to my father.’ Rose stopped when she said that, a familiar worry coming back to her. ‘Is she going to take me to court?’

Zac looked fierce. ‘No, of course not. The threat of my revealing the truth of my parentage was enough to make her contemplate emigration.’

Rose’s eyes widened. ‘You’d do that?’

Zac’s mouth compressed. ‘It’s time to tell my parents’ story. I’m not ashamed of it.’

She felt even more emotional now. ‘I think you’re right—their memories don’t deserve to be locked away forever, as if they did something wrong.’

Suddenly Rose felt very vulnerable as the shock of seeing Zac wore off and she had to contemplate why he had come—now that he knew she hadn’t set out to ruin him in league with his grandmother.

He was obviously remorseful, and Rose was still getting her head around that, but he also now seemed to believe what she’d told him the other night—that she loved him. And he obviously pitied her. The mother of his child…in love with him…how tragic. He must feel doubly responsible now, and the thought of that made her feel almost breathless with excruciating humiliation.

She stood up. ‘Look, thank you for coming all the way up here, but I really need to focus on my father now. And I’m grateful for your help with the operation, but I have every intention of paying you back. I know it’ll take years, but I’ll do it.’

Now Zac looked angry, and he stood up too. ‘I’m not here to demand payment. I’m here because—’

Rose held up her hand, stopping him, because she didn’t want to hear him say anything about responsibility, and quickly lowered it again when she noticed it was shaking. ‘Just go—please. I’m sure you’re busy, and we can talk about arrangements for the baby another time, okay?’

She started to walk out of the canteen and heard from behind her, ‘Rose—dammit.’ But she kept going. If she stopped he’d see how close to the edge she was.

When she got to her father’s floor she looked behind her and let out a shaky breath when she didn’t see Zac. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

After she’d gone in and checked on her father one of the nurses came in and handed her a note, saying with a knowing wink, ‘Honey, if that guy comes in again please send him my way.’

Rose forced a smile and opened the note, which was curt.

I’m not leaving. I’ll be at the local hotel, so if you need anything call me. Zac.

She scowled, even as her heart lurched betrayingly. She wouldn’t be calling him. She didn’t need anything from Zac Valenti—certainly not his sense of obvious obligation.

But just then, as if to remind her that she did actually need something from him—a lifetime of support—she felt a little kick in her belly. Tears of emotion came to her eyes. She’d been feeling definite movements for the past week, but trust Junior to make his or her presence known now—right when the autocratic father turned up.

‘This is where she’s been sleeping?’

The angry voice woke Rose, and she opened her eyes to see Zac towering over her small cot bed in the tiny family room on her father’s floor at the clinic. A young male nurse was fairly cowering in front of Zac.

‘Does this really look like suitable accommodation for a pregnant woman?’

The nurse went red.

Rose sat up and put a hand to her head when it swam. She hadn’t slept that well, and fatigue washed over her.

Zac was down on his haunches in front of her. ‘Are you okay?’

Before she could say anything he cursed and stood again. He was on his phone in seconds, issuing instructions, and Rose saw the nurse take his chance to escape further censure.

She forced herself to stand as Zac was putting his phone away.

He took her arm. ‘When was the last time you ate a decent meal or slept properly?’

Rose blinked. She couldn’t actually remember.

Zac cursed again and said ominously, ‘Right—that’s it.’

He led her out of the tiny room and stood in front of her. She wanted to scowl at him for being so dominant and gorgeous first thing in the morning.

‘My car is downstairs. My driver is going to take you back to my hotel, where you are going to—’ He held up a hand when Rose opened her mouth, and waited till she’d shut it again before continuing, ‘Where you are going to eat breakfast and then go to bed in my room for a few hours. After that I’ll have a room arranged for you.’

‘But I can’t just leave! My father—’

‘Your father will be fine. I’ll stay with him.’

Rose’s belly swooped. ‘But you’re busy…’

Zac held up his phone, which admittedly looked as if it could launch a nuclear missile. ‘Nothing I can’t handle from here. Now, go—or I’ll put you over my shoulder.’

The thought of Zac touching her and seeing how much she still wanted him was enough to galvanise her into moving. She checked on her still sleeping father and then Zac accompanied her downstairs.

He said sternly, ‘I don’t want to see you until after you’ve slept and had lunch.’

Feeling thoroughly bemused, Rose did as she was told, and had to admit that being looked after was seductive enough to be dangerous.

When she did return to the hospital later, feeling much more herself again after some sleep, followed by a long hot shower and food, she stopped in her father’s doorway and took in the sight. Zac was sitting by the bed talking to her father, who was laughing weakly at whatever Zac had just said.

They both looked up and saw her at the same time, and her father put out his hand. He already looked so much better.

‘Roisín, look who it is! Zachary Lyndon-Holt—’ Her father stopped and flushed and looked at Zac. ‘Sorry, son, it’s hard to remember you’re not—’

Zac smiled, ‘It’s fine, Mr O’Malley.’

Her father went red. ‘Stop that. It’s Séamus to you.’

Rose’s heart swelled so much she thought it might burst. Danger. Because what would happen when Zac got bored with this responsibility and went again?

She came into the room and said pointedly to Zac, ‘I’m here now. I’m sure you have things to attend to…’

His eyes flashed, but he uncoiled his big body from the chair and stretched—which didn’t help her hormone levels. Then he said pointedly, ‘A word, Rose? Before I go?’

She nodded and went out with him after he’d said goodbye to her father.

She faced him. ‘Look, Zac—’

‘No, you look. I’m not going anywhere, and this is how it’s going to happen. There’s a room for you at the hotel. We are going to take it in turns to visit your father until he’s ready to go home, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Rose’s mouth stayed open and Zac’s gaze dropped there for a moment. Electricity zinged between them.

His gaze came up again. ‘I’ll see you later, Rose.’

And then he turned and sauntered off and left her feeling frustrated, irritated, grateful…and generally in turmoil.

Over the following week they developed a routine. Zac would do the mornings, until after lunch, and then Rose would stay with her father until late and go to the hotel to sleep. She and Zac passed each other like relay runners in a race. They didn’t have any more conversations, but she knew the time would come when they would have to sit down and talk things through. Discuss what would happen once the baby was born.

She felt the attraction between them, but all she could think about was Zac’s rejection after that night in Italy. Even if his eyes did linger on her, it didn’t mean anything, she was only projecting her own pathetic desire onto him.

Her father had guessed that Zac was the baby’s father, but thankfully seemed inclined to let Rose and Zac off the hook for now. She felt his shrewd blue gaze on them, though, whenever they were together.

When the time came for her father to be sent home Zac had it organised with military precision. They were driven home in a luxurious people carrier—with a nurse from the hospital who was going to spend a couple of days at the house, making sure everything was set up properly for her father’s recovery.

The house had been modified in Rose’s absence, to accommodate her father’s medical requirements, and Zac had also arranged for twenty-four-seven nursing care. When she’d opened her mouth to protest, he’d just looked at her explicitly. He’d also arranged for a local woman who knew Rose and her father well to come and cook for them, and generally keep house.

Sometimes Rose didn’t know which was worse—Zac’s suffocating taking over of the situation or his animosity. She thought she’d nearly prefer it if she was struggling on her own, because she knew how to do that, but then she looked at her father in his bed, in his own home, so relaxed, and she felt churlish.

A week later Zac had more or less returned full-time to the city, but he was calling about five times a day to check in. Rose’s nerves were strung so tight that she jumped a mile high when the doorbell rang.

She went to answer it and a courier was on the other side of the door, with a big box and an envelope. When she took them from him he looked a little embarrassed and said, ‘I’m supposed to wait for a return note.’

Rose let him come in and help himself to a drink in the kitchen while she went into the quiet living room to open the box. She peeled back the tissue paper to see horribly familiar shimmering black material. She pulled out the black dress…and quickly let it drop from her hands when a wave of fresh mortification washed through her.

She remembered how it had felt to stand in front of Zac and tell him she loved him so earnestly…and the way he’d taken his hand out from under hers over her belly. As if he’d been burnt.

She picked up the envelope reluctantly and a card fell out. She could read it without touching it.

Please meet me at my apartment this evening. A car will be waiting for you. Come when you’re ready…

Zac

Rose felt sick. This was what it had come to? He had helped them—beyond anything Rose had ever expected—and now he would take his due? There was some final humiliation to be had?

She felt angry, disappointed…but resigned. She owed Zac. And if he wanted her to come to him like some kind of sacrificial lamb…in this dress that symbolised so much…then what choice did she have? But she would hold her head high and he would never know what it cost her.

She quickly scrawled a note on the other side of the card and went out and handed it to the courier, who left again.

It was late when Rose was finally crossing over the bridge into Manhattan. The car had been waiting for her for hours. She wasn’t playing a game, but the nurse had been a little worried about her father’s temperature being raised and Rose had wanted to make sure he was okay. She’d only left once he was asleep and the nurse had been sure there was nothing to worry about.

Her gut was a tight ball of nerves. She was wearing the dress and she’d put up her hair and made an effort with her make-up.

The car pulled up outside Zac’s building far too soon, and the doorman opened her door with a polite, ‘Good evening, Miss O’Malley. Mr Valenti is waiting for you in his apartment. You’re to go straight up.’

She forced a smile and went into the lobby, where the concierge had Zac’s private lift ready and waiting. As it ascended her stomach felt as if it was going in the other direction. It didn’t help to recall going down in the same lift that first night, and how she’d felt as if she was returning to where she belonged.

She was unbelievably nervous. Her palms were clammy.

The doors opened and she stepped into the foyer of Zac’s apartment. Her heels seemed to make a ridiculous amount of noise as she walked through on the marble floor. The living area was quiet. No sound. He wasn’t in the kitchen. She looked quickly into the bedrooms. No sign.

The baby kicked then, as if urging her to keep looking.

She went back towards the living room and spotted an open door, recognising it as the door that led from the apartment up to the garden. Her pulse quickened. She picked up the dress so it wouldn’t catch, and went up the circular stone steps.

The door at the top was open and she walked outside. The sense of déjà vu almost knocked her off her feet. The air was balmy. The lights glittered. The garden was as magical as she remembered.

She walked along the path and it hit her why Zac had built this garden—obviously for his parents. Her heart ached, but she kept going.

And then a familiar voice broke the silence. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

She looked up to see Zac, dressed in a tuxedo, standing on the small terrace above the garden. She instantly felt dizzy, and her pulse-rate tripled. The baby kicked again.

She put a hand on her belly. ‘My father’s temperature was raised. I wanted to make sure he was okay.’

Zac frowned. ‘Is he?’

She nodded. ‘He’s fine, thank you.’

Zac didn’t make a move, so Rose kept going. His eyes were on her, unnervingly intense all the way. She walked up the steps, feeling acutely self-conscious. The dress hadn’t been made to accommodate a growing baby bump, so the material was stretched across her belly even more than it had been the last time.

When she got within a couple of feet of Zac she stopped. She’d thought she could do this—hold her head up high and give him whatever he wanted and then walk away again. But now, in front of him, it wasn’t so easy. Past and present were meshing painfully. That first night whispered around them like a mocking echo of what Rose had yearned for so much, knowing she could never have it.

Standing here in front of him with a pregnant belly was the biggest mockery of all.

She took a step back. Too much emotion was rising up. Scaring her.

Zac put out a hand as if to reach for her and she panicked. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I could do this…but I can’t.’

Zac frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’ His hand dropped.

Rose gestured to the dress, much as she had the other night, with a shaking hand. ‘This. You want to make some sort of point… Maybe you want an affair for a while…until you’re bored and you can relegate me to the sidelines as mother of your child… I know I owe you, Zac—I owe you more than I can ever repay you. But I don’t think I can do it like this.’

He came towards her then, with a savage look on his face. Rose only knew she’d backed away when she hit the railing where they’d stood and looked out over the view that first night. Dammit, she wished the memories would quit. She was going mad.

‘You think I brought you here like this as some sort of twisted fantasy? That I’d get a kick out of seeing you in that dress again and just want you for a finite amount of time?’

He’d put his hands on the railing now and boxed her in. He was so close that her belly was almost touching him.

‘You do owe me…’ he said then.

‘I know I do!’ Rose almost wailed it, willing herself not to respond and melt. ‘No one knows that more than me.’

He lifted a hand and cupped her jaw, and every sinew in Rose’s body pulled taut against her inevitable reaction.

‘For the past couple of weeks you’ve been keeping me at a distance and I won’t have it—not when you told me you loved me. Why are you acting as if you didn’t?’

Rose’s breath stopped dead. She wanted to dissolve and disappear. This was excruciating. She’d thought Zac was ruthless before, but this…this was sheer cruelty.

Angry at how he was forcing her complete humiliation, she said, ‘Because I’m not a masochist. That’s why I can’t do this…’

He said now, ‘When I said you owe me, I meant that you owe me nothing but your trust. Do you know why I asked you here like this? In this dress?’

Rose tried not to seize on what he’d said about her only owing him her trust. It was too dangerous.

‘Because you want me to start paying you back… Because it turns you on… Because I embarrassed you when I turned up at the function… I don’t know, Zac…’

‘You’re right about one thing: it does turn me on.’

Rose felt her nerves sizzling.

‘But the real reason is because I want to start again. I want us to recreate that night—except this time without any malevolent manipulation dictating events. We’re just two people who’ve never met before. No agenda.’

Hardly daring to breathe or to hope, Rose whispered, ‘Why? If all you want is an affair—’

‘Your words,’ he cut in. ‘Not mine.’ He shook his head. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? I haven’t brought you here just to sleep with you, or to continue some temporary affair. You’re here because you’ve brought me to my knees. Because everything that I ever believed was important means nothing unless you’re with me.’

He wasn’t finished.

‘I don’t just want one night…or a few weeks or months. I want every night and day. I want you and me and our baby—together. And I want that forever.’

Rose shook her head incredulously. Her heart was pounding wildly. ‘You didn’t believe me when I told you how I felt… How do I know you believe me now?’

Zac was intense. ‘Because I trust in that girl I met who was so conflicted…who just wanted to do the right thing but was falling, just like I was. I trust in the purity of what we felt for each other, regardless of how we came to meet.’

It was too much. The hope was too much… She had too far to fall, and Zac had distrusted her for so long.

She broke away and turned her back to him, standing at the railing, holding on with both hands, knuckles white. Her throat ached…her eyes burned. And then she closed her eyes helplessly when she felt him behind her, wrapping his arms around her. His hands spread across her swollen belly with a possessiveness that made her blood sing.

He said over her head, ‘I love you, Rose, and I’m not letting you go. Not until you believe me.’

She was crying now in earnest, silently. But he could feel her sobs and he just held her until they stopped. The baby kicked under his hands.

She felt Zac go still behind her, and then he said with a choked voice, ‘See? It’s two against one.’

As he held her and she looked out over the view, she felt something wild and soaring take root inside her. The past and the present…and the future? Could it really start here again?

She gathered all her courage and turned in his arms and looked up. Her face had to be ravaged from her tears, but she didn’t care. She looked, deep into those blue eyes, and saw nothing but a blazing truth, as if he could burn it into her with sheer will. And a question. Could she give them another chance? Could she trust him?

Rose tugged free of Zac’s hold and stepped back. The stark pain she saw in his eyes when she broke free told her everything. And that she never wanted to see it again.

She took a deep, not entirely stable breath and held out her hand. ‘I’m Rose O’Malley—nice to meet you.’

Zac’s eyes flashed with something fierce. Relief. Joy. And love. He smiled and took her hand. ‘Zac Valenti—nice to meet you too.’ Then he cocked his head on one side. ‘With a name and colouring like that you must be Irish?’

Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest, but she answered, ‘My parents emigrated here before I was born.’

Zac kept hold of her hand and slowly started pulling her towards him. ‘Why haven’t I seen you around before?’

Rose smiled tremulously and let herself be pulled. ‘I’m from Queens, and I’m afraid I’m just a humble maid.’

Zac pulled her right into his body and said, in a suspiciously choked-sounding voice, ‘As it happens, just humble maids are some of my favourite people.’ He threaded a hand through Rose’s hair, ‘Would you think it very forward of me if I kissed you, even though we’ve only just met?’

Rose’s voice wobbled even more as she said emotionally, ‘Only as long as you promise never to stop.’

‘That,’ Zac said reverently as he bent his head towards hers, ‘I can promise.’

And so that night, on a beautiful rooftop, in the middle of a magical garden high in the dark velvet sky, they started again.

EPILOGUE

A year later

ZAC VALENTI LOOKED around the massive glittering ballroom from his antisocial location, leaning against a pillar at the back of the room. Women passed him, dripping in jewels. He held in a scowl. And then something caught his peripheral vision and he looked to his right to see a bright flame of gold and green approaching him. Something swelled in his chest. His wife, his love, his world.

She emerged from the crowd, smiling at him. Her hair was swept up and she wore a shimmering strapless column of emerald-green that made her eyes pop out like two jewels. The only jewels she needed. Apart from her wedding rings.

When she reached his side Zac pulled her in close and it felt as it always did—as if a part of him was slotting back into place. He automatically breathed easier.

Rose looked up at him, eyes sparkling. ‘The gossip in the powder room tonight is about the sudden decision of a certain Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt to go on a long worldwide cruise.’

A familiar tension came into Zac’s muscles at the mention of that woman, but also a sense of release. He’d given a recent exclusive interview to a financial magazine, finally revealing the truth of his parentage and details of his hitherto less well-known Italian business concerns.

This cruise was his grandmother’s attempt to escape her fall from grace. The fact that she would be hounded by reporters at every stop along her route was inordinately satisfying. As was the legal agreement he’d made her sign before she’d left, which had been her only chance of ensuring the Lyndon-Holt name would live forever.

The Lyndon-Holt fortune was to become a philanthropic foundation, with one of its main recipients being a new charity—set up by him and Rose—which allocated funds for expensive medical operations to those who couldn’t afford it.

Rose’s father had recovered fully from his operation, and they’d taken an emotional trip back to Ireland with her mother’s ashes shortly after their daughter’s birth. Needless to say, Simona May Valenti—named for her paternal grandmother with the Italian spelling, and maternal grandmother—was the apple of her doting grandfather’s eye.

They’d christened her three months previously, in the church near the graveyard where Zac’s ancestors were buried. It was also where they’d been married, before Simona’s birth. Italy was their second home now, and they retreated there as much as possible.

Zac said now, with faux gravity, ‘Quite frankly, I’m less interested in idle gossip and far more interested in seeing how quickly I can get you out of that dress, Mrs Valenti.’

Rose slipped her arms around his waist, pressing so close that he could feel the thrust of her breasts against this side. Lust shot through his system with predictable force, making his body respond.

‘Witch…’ he growled, and she smiled, well aware of her effect on him.

He pulled her around in front of him, as much to disguise his body’s reaction as to torture her a little too.

He smiled when he saw her cheeks flush and her eyes dilate. ‘What do you say to going somewhere a little less…stuffy?’

She smiled. ‘I say yes.’

And then they both became aware of a moment of déjà vu at the same time—recalling that first night when he’d said those same words,

Rose said more huskily, ‘Take me home, Zac.’

So he did.

They went home to their new Greenwich Village townhouse and, after sending their nanny home, checked on their peacefully sleeping baby daughter, legs and arms spread wide in abandon.

Zac stood looking down at her for a long time. It scared him sometimes, recognising how easily his life might have remained an arid wasteland, only feeling a desire for retribution for his parents and wanting to accumulate more wealth and power. He’d arrogantly assumed when he’d walked away from his family that he had it all figured out, when in fact he’d really been no better off.

It had taken meeting Rose and falling in love to show him the true meaning of wealth. And now his daughter had compounded that a thousandfold.

Rose’s hand slipped into his and he looked at her, too overcome to say anything for a moment. She smiled, and he could see everything he was feeling mirrored in those green eyes.

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘Me, too.’

And then she started backing out of the room, pulling him with her, with a knowing and very feminine smile on her face as they made their way to their bedroom.

And in that private space Zac let her take him apart—because he knew that she was the only one who could put him back together again. For ever.

Secret Heirs: Billionaire’s Pleasure

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

Sharon Kendrick

Engaged for Her Enemy’s Heir

Kate Hewitt

The Virgin’s Shock Baby

Heidi Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

Sharon Kendrick

Waitress…

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

Mistress…

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

Wife?

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

For three fabulous writers who helped with the

Australian detail in my 100th book,

ARoyal Vow of Convenience.

Helene Young & Margareta Young for the

inspiration and the insight - and Rachael Johns,

for the Tim-Tams!

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hell, Renzo,’ she breathed.

‘Is it really hell?’ he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly.

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

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

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

‘You are impatient, little one.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Did you miss me, cara?’

She closed her eyes. ‘I missed…this.’

‘But nothing else?’

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

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

‘Renzo—’

‘What is it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Yes, I do.’

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

‘But you’re tired?’ she observed.

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

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

‘Not really.’ He yawned again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You’re spoiling me,’ she said.

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

‘I learned it from you?’

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

‘Thirsty.’

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

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

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

‘Is something wrong?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What are you doing in Norfolk?’

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

‘You mean you’re leaving London?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I might.’

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

She shrugged. ‘I guess it could.’

‘Just like that?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why not?’

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

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

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

She chewed on her lip. ‘Renzo—’

‘Mmm…?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No, thanks.’

‘No?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do I look like a murderer?’

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

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

‘Women always tell me that’s a plus.’

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

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

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

‘Why would I? Would you have stopped?’

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

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

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

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

‘Renzo?’

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Because it was too expensive.’

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

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

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

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

‘You did what?’

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

‘The clothes,’ he repeated uncomprehendingly.

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

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

‘So what’s the problem?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You mean apart from making love?’

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

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

‘Oh? Is that usual?’

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

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

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

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

‘How come?’

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

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

‘You could say that.’

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

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

But thoughts of her mother stabbed at her conscience, prompting her to address something which had been bothering her on the flight over.

‘You know the money I saved on my airfare and clothes?’ she began.

‘Yes, Darcy. I know. You were making a point.’ He shot her a glance, his lips curving into a sardonic smile. ‘Rich man with too much money shown by poor girl just how much he could save if he bothered to shop around. I get the picture.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Renzo,’ she said stiffly. ‘I want you to have it back. I’ve put most of it in an envelope in my handbag.’

‘But I don’t want it back. When are you going to get the message? I have more than enough money. And if it makes you feel better, I admire your resourcefulness and refusal to be seduced by my wealth. It’s rare.’

For a moment there was silence. ‘I think we both know it wasn’t your wealth which seduced me, Renzo.’

She hadn’t meant to say it but her quiet words reverberated around the car in an honest explanation of what had first drawn her to him. Not his money, nor his power—but him. The most charismatic and compelling man she’d ever met. She heard him suck in an unsteady breath.

‘Madonna mia,’ he said softly. ‘Are you trying to tempt me into taking the next turning and finding the nearest layby so that I can do what I have been longing to do to you since last I saw you?’

‘Renzo—’

‘I don’t want the damned money you saved! I want you to put your hand in my lap and feel how hard I am for you.’

‘Not while you’re driving,’ said Darcy and although she was disappointed he had turned the emotional into the sexual, she didn’t show it. Because that was the kind of man he was, she reminded herself. He was never emotional and always sexual. She didn’t need to touch him to know he was aroused—a quick glance and she could see for herself the hard ridge outlined beneath the dark trousers. Suddenly her lips grew dry in response and she licked them, wishing they could have sex right then. Because sex stopped you longing for things you were never going to have. Things other women took for granted—like a man promising to love and protect you. Things which seemed as distant as those faraway mountains. With an effort she dragged her attention back to the present. ‘Tell me about this place we’re going to instead.’

‘You think talking about property is a suitable substitute for discovering what you’re wearing underneath that pretty little dress?’

‘I think it’s absolutely vital if you intend keeping your mind on the road, which is probably the most sensible option if you happen to be driving a car.’

‘Oh, Darcy.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Did I ever tell you that one of the things I admire about you is your ability to always come up with a smart answer?’

‘The house, Renzo. I want to talk about the house.’

‘Okay. The house. It’s old,’ he said as he overtook a lorry laden with a towering pile of watermelons. ‘And it stands against a backdrop that Leonardo should have painted, instead of that village south of Piacenza which is not nearly as beautiful. It has orchards and vineyards and olive groves—in fact, we produce superb wines from the Sangiovese grape and enough olive oil to sell to some of the more upmarket stores in London and Paris.’

The few facts he’d recited could have been lifted straight from the pages of an estate agent’s website and Darcy felt oddly disappointed. ‘It sounds gorgeous,’ she said dutifully.

‘It is.’

‘So…why are you selling it?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s time.’

‘Because?’

Too late, she realised she had asked one question too many. His face grew dark, as if the sun had just dipped behind a cloud and his shadowed jaw set itself into a hard and obdurate line.

‘Isn’t one of the reasons for our unique chemistry that you don’t plague me with questions?’

She heard the sudden darkness underpinning his question. ‘I was only—’

‘Well, don’t. Don’t pry. Why change what up until now has been a winning formula?’ His voice had harshened as he cut through her words, his hands tensing as a discreet sign appeared among the tangle of greenery which feathered the roadside. ‘And anyway. We’re here. This is Vallombrosa.’

But his face was still dark as the car began to ascend a tree-lined track towards an imposing pair of dark wrought-iron gates which looked like the gates of heaven.

Or the gates of hell, Darcy thought with a sudden flash of foreboding.

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW ON EARTH am I going to converse with everyone?’ questioned Darcy as she stepped out onto the sunny courtyard. ‘Since my Italian is limited to the few words I learnt from the phrasebook on the plane and that phrase about the lightning strike?’

‘All my staff are bilingual,’ Renzo said, his show of bad temper in the car now seemingly forgotten. ‘And perfectly comfortable with speaking your mother tongue.’

The words mocked her and Darcy chewed on her lip as she looked away. Mother tongue? Her own mother had taught her to say very little—other than things which could probably have had her prosecuted if she’d repeated them to the authorities.

‘Pass Mummy that needle, darling.’

‘Pass Mummy those matches.’

‘If the policewoman asks if you’ve met that man before, tell her no.’

But she smiled brightly as she entered the shaded villa and shook hands with Gisella, the elderly housekeeper, and her weather-beaten husband, Pasquale, who was one of the estate’s gardeners. A lovely young woman with dark hair helped Gisella around the house and Darcy saw her blush when Renzo introduced her as Stefania. There was also a chef called Donato, who apparently flew in from Rome whenever Renzo was in residence. Donato was tanned, athletic, amazingly good-looking and almost certainly gay.

‘Lunch will be in an hour,’ he told them. ‘But sooner if you’re hungry?’

‘Oh, I think we can wait,’ said Renzo. He turned to Darcy. ‘Why don’t we take a quick look around while our bags are taken to our room?’

Darcy nodded, thinking how weird it felt to be deferred to like that—and to be introduced to his staff just like a real girlfriend. But then she reminded herself that this was only going to work if she didn’t allow herself to get carried away. She followed him outside, blinking a little as she took in the vastness of his estate and, although she was seeing only a fraction of it, her senses were instantly overloaded by the beauty of Vallombrosa. Honeybees flitted over purple spears of lavender, vying for space with brightly coloured butterflies. Little lizards basked on baked grey stone. The high walls surrounding the ancient house were covered with scrambling pink roses and stone arches framed the blue-green layers of the distant mountains beyond. Darcy wondered what it must be like growing up somewhere like here, instead of the greyness of the institution in the north of England, which had been the only place she’d ever really called home.

‘Like it?’ he questioned.

‘How could I not? It’s beautiful.’

‘You know, you’re pretty beautiful yourself,’ he said softly as he turned his head to look at her.

Remembering the way he’d snapped at her in the car, she wanted to resist him, but the light touch of his hand on her hip and brush of his fingers against her thighs made resistance impossible and Darcy was shaking with longing by the time they reached the shuttered dimness of his bedroom. It was a vast wood-beamed room but there was no time to take in her surroundings because he was pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing hungrily over hers and his fingers tangling themselves in her curls.

‘Renzo,’ she said unsteadily.

‘What?’

She licked her lips. ‘You know what.’

‘I think I do.’ His lips curved into a hard smile. ‘You want this?’

Sliding down the zip of her cotton dress, he peeled it away from her and she felt the rush of air against her skin as it pooled to the ground around her ankles. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘That’s what I want.’

‘Do you know,’ he questioned as he unclipped her lacy bra and it joined the discarded dress, ‘how much I have been fantasising about you? About this?’

She nodded. ‘Me, too,’ she said softly, because the newness of the environment and the situation in which she found herself was making her feel almost shy in his presence.

But not for long. The beat of her heart and the heat of her blood soon overwhelmed her and had her fumbling for his belt, her fingers trembling with need. Very quickly she was naked and so was he—soft, shuttered light shading their bodies as he pushed her down onto the bed and levered his powerful form over hers. She gripped at the silken musculature of his broad shoulders as he slowly stroked his thumb over her clitoris. And she came right then—so quickly it was almost embarrassing. He laughed softly and eased himself into her wet heat and for a moment he was perfectly still.

‘Do you know how good that feels?’ he said as he began to move inside her.

She swallowed. ‘I’ve…I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

‘Oh, Darcy. It’s you,’ he groaned, his eyes closing. ‘Only you.’

He said the words like a ragged prayer or maybe a curse—but Darcy didn’t read anything into them because she knew exactly what he meant. She was the first and only woman with whom he hadn’t needed to wear a condom, because her virginity had elevated her to a different status from his other lovers—he’d told her that himself. He told her she was truly pure. He’d been fascinated to find a woman of twenty-four who’d never had a lover before and by her fervent reply when he’d asked if she ever wanted children.

‘Never!’

Her response must have been heartfelt enough to convince him because in a rare moment of confidence he told her he felt exactly the same. Soon afterwards he had casually suggested she might want to go on the pill and Darcy had eagerly agreed. She remembered the first time they’d left the condom off and how it had felt to have his naked skin against hers instead of ‘that damned rubber’—again, his words—between them. It had been…delicious. She had felt dangerously close to him and had needed to give herself a stern talking-to afterwards. She’d told herself that the powerful feelings she was experiencing were purely physical. Of course sex felt better without a condom—but it didn’t mean anything.

But now, in the dimness of his Tuscan bedroom, he was deep inside her. He was filling her and thrusting into her body and kissing her mouth until it throbbed and it felt so amazing that she could have cried. Did her low, moaning sigh break his rhythm? Was that why, with a deft movement, he turned her over so that she was on top of him, his black eyes capturing hers?

‘Ride me, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Ride me until you come again.’

She nodded as she tensed her thighs against his narrow hips because she liked this position. It gave her a rare feeling of power, to see Renzo lying underneath her—his eyes half-closed and his lips parted as she rocked back and forth.

She heard his groan and bent her head to kiss it quiet, though she was fairly sure that the walls of this ancient house were deep enough to absorb the age-old sounds of sex. He tangled his hands in her hair, digging his fingers into the wayward curls until pleasure—intense and unalterable—started spiralling up inside her. She came just before he did, gasping as he clasped her hips tightly and hearing him utter something urgent in Italian as his body bucked beneath her. She bent her head to his neck, hot breath panting against his skin until she’d recovered enough to peel herself away from him, before falling back against the mattress.

She looked at the dark beams above her head and the engraved glass lampshade, which looked as if it was as old as the house itself. Someone had put a small vase of scented roses by the window—the same roses which had been scrambling over the walls outside—and all the light in that shadowy room seemed to be centred on those pale pink petals.

‘Well,’ she said eventually. ‘That was some welcome.’

Deliberately, Renzo kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady because he didn’t want to talk. Not right now. He didn’t need to be told how good it was—that was a given—not when his mind was busy with the inevitable clamour of his thoughts.

He’d felt a complex mixture of stuff as he’d driven towards the house, knowing soon it would be under different ownership. A house which had been in his mother’s family for generations and which had had more than its fair share of heartbreak. Other people might have offloaded it years ago but pride had made him hold on to it, determined to replace bad memories with good ones, and to a large extent he’d succeeded. But you couldn’t live in the past. It was time to let the place go—to say goodbye to the last clinging fragments of yesterday.

He looked across the bed, where Darcy was lying with her eyes closed, her bright red hair spread all over the white pillow. He thought about her going to Norfolk when they got back to London and tried to imagine what it might be like sleeping with someone else when she was no longer around, but the idea of some slender-hipped brunette lying amid his tumbled sheets was failing to excite him. Instinctively he flattened his palm over her bare thigh.

‘And was it the perfect welcome?’ he questioned at last.

‘You know it was.’ Her voice was sleepy. ‘Though I should go and pick my dress up. It’s the first time I’ve worn it.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll have Gisella launder it for you.’

‘There’s no need for that.’ Her voice was suddenly sharp as her eyes snapped open. ‘I can do my own washing. I can easily rinse it out in the sink and hang it out to dry in that glorious sunshine.’

‘And if I told you I’d rather you didn’t?’

‘Too bad.’

‘Why are you so damned stubborn, Darcy?’

‘I thought you liked my stubbornness.’

‘When appropriate, I do.’

‘You mean, when it suits you?’

‘Esattamente.’

She lay back and looked up at the ceiling. How could she explain that she’d felt his housekeeper looking at her and seeing exactly who she was—a servant, just as Gisella was. Like Gisella, she waited tables and cleared up around people who had far more money than she had. That was who she was. She didn’t want to look as if she’d suddenly acquired airs and graces by asking to have her clothes laundered. She wasn’t going to try to be someone she wasn’t—someone who would find it impossible to settle back into her humble world when she got back to England and her billionaire lover was nothing but a distant memory.

But she shouldn’t take it out on Renzo, because he was just being Renzo. She’d never objected to his high-handedness before. If the truth were known, she’d always found it a turn-on—and in a way, his arrogance had provided a natural barrier. It had stopped her falling completely under his spell, forcing her to be realistic rather than dreamy. She leaned over and brushed her mouth against his. ‘So tell me what you’ve got planned for us.’

His fingers slid between the tops of her thighs. ‘Plans? What plans? The sight of your body seems to have completely short-circuited my brain.’

Halting his hand before it got any further, Darcy enjoyed her brief feeling of power. ‘Tell me something about Vallombrosa—and I’m not talking olive or wine production this time. Did you live here when you were a little boy?’

His shuttered features grew wary. ‘Why the sudden interest?’

‘Because you told me we’d be having dinner with the man who’s buying the place. It’s going to look a bit odd if I don’t know anything about your connection with it. Did you grow up here?’

‘No, I grew up in Rome. Vallombrosa was our holiday home.’

‘And?’ she prompted.

‘And it had been in my mother’s family for generations. We used it to escape the summer heat of the city. She and I used to come here for the entire vacation and my father would travel down at weekends.’

Darcy nodded because she knew that, like her, he was an only child and that both his parents were dead. And that was pretty much all she knew.

She circled a finger over the hardness of his flat belly. ‘So what did you do when you were here?’

He pushed her hand in the direction of his groin. ‘My father taught me to hunt and to fish, while my mother socialised and entertained. Sometimes friends came to visit and my mother’s school friend Mariella always seemed to be a constant fixture. We were happy, or so I thought.’

Darcy held her breath as something dark and steely entered his voice. ‘But you weren’t?’

‘No. We weren’t.’ He turned his head to look at her, a hard expression suddenly distorting his features. ‘Haven’t you realised by now that so few people are?’

‘I guess,’ she said stiffly. But she’d thought…

What? That other people were strangers to the pain she’d suffered? That someone as successful and as powerful as Renzo had never known emotional deprivation? Was that why he was so distant sometimes—so shuttered and cold? ‘Did something happen?’

‘You could say that. They got divorced when I was seven.’

‘And was it…acrimonious?’

He shot her an unfathomable look. ‘Aren’t all divorces acrimonious?’

She shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘Especially when you discover that your mother’s best “friend” has been having an affair with your father for years,’ he added, his voice bitter. ‘It makes you realise that when the chips are down, women can never be trusted.’

Darcy chewed on her lip. ‘So what happened?’

‘After the divorce, my father married his mistress but my mother never really recovered. It was a double betrayal and her only weapon was me.’

‘Weapon?’ she echoed.

He nodded. ‘She did everything in her power to keep my father out of my life. She was depressed.’ His jaw tightened. ‘And believe me, there isn’t much a child can do if his mother is depressed. He is—quite literally—helpless. I used to sit in the corner of the room, quietly making houses out of little plastic bricks while she sobbed her heart out and raged against the world. By the end of that first summer, I’d constructed an entire city.’

She nodded in sudden understanding. Had his need to control been born out of that helplessness? Had the tiny plastic city he’d made been the beginnings of his brilliant architectural career? ‘Oh, Renzo—that’s…terrible,’ she said.

He curled his fingers over one breast. ‘What an innocent you are, Darcy,’ he observed softly.

Darcy felt guilt wash over her. He thought she was a goody-goody because she suspected he was one of those men who divided women into two types—Madonna or whore. Her virginity had guaranteed her Madonna status but it wasn’t that simple and if he knew why she had kept herself pure he would be shocked. Married men having affairs was hardly ground-breaking stuff, even if they chose to do it with their wife’s best friend—but she could tell him things about her life which would make his own story sound like something you could read to a child at bedtime.

And he wasn’t asking about her past, was he? He wasn’t interested—and maybe she ought to be grateful for that. There was no point in dragging out her dark secrets at this late stage in their relationship and ruining their last few days together. ‘So what made you decide to sell the estate?’

There was a pause. ‘My stepmother died last year,’ he said flatly. ‘She’d always wanted this house and I suppose I was making sure she never got her hands on it. But now she’s gone—they’ve all gone—and somehow my desire to hang on to it died with her. The estate is too big for a single man to maintain. It needs a family.’

‘And you don’t want one?’

‘I thought we’d already established that,’ he said and now his voice had grown cool. ‘I saw enough lying and deceit to put me off marriage for a lifetime. Surely you can understand that?’

Darcy nodded. Oh, yes, she understood all right. Just as she recognised that his words were a warning. A warning not to get too close. That just because she was here with him in the unfamiliar role of girlfriend, nothing had really changed. The smile she produced wasn’t as bright as usual, but it was good enough to convince him she didn’t care. ‘Shouldn’t we think about getting ready for lunch?’ she questioned, her voice growing a little unsteady as his hand moved from her breast to the dip of her belly. ‘Didn’t…didn’t Donato say it would be ready in an hour?’

The touch of her bare skin drove all thoughts from Renzo’s mind until he was left with only one kind of hunger. The best kind. The kind which obliterated everything except pleasure. He’d told her more than he usually told anyone and he put that down to the fact that usually she didn’t ask. But she needed to know that there would be no more confidences from now on. She needed to know that there was only one reason she was here—and the glint of expectation in her eyes told him that she was getting the message loud and clear. He felt his erection grow exquisitely hard as he looked at the little waitress who somehow knew how to handle him better than any other woman.

‘I employ Donato to work to my time frame, not his,’ he said arrogantly, bending his head and sucking at her nipple.

‘Oh, Renzo.’ Her eyes closed as she fell back against the pillow.

‘Renzo, what?’ he taunted.

‘Don’t make me beg.’

He slid his finger over her knee. ‘But I like it when you beg.’

‘I know you do.’

‘So?’

She groaned as her hips lifted hungrily towards his straying finger. ‘Please…’

‘That’s better.’ He gave a low and triumphant laugh as he pulled her towards him. ‘Lunch can wait,’ he added roughly, parting her thighs and positioning himself between them once more. ‘I’m afraid this can’t.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘THIS?’ DARCY HELD up a glimmering black sheath, then immediately waved a flouncy turquoise dress in front of it. ‘Or this?’

‘The black,’ Renzo said, flicking her a swift glance before continuing to button up his shirt.

Her skin now tanned a delicate shade of gold, Darcy slithered into the black dress, aware that Renzo was watching her reflection in the glass in the way a hungry dog might look at a butcher, but she didn’t care. She found herself wishing she had the ability to freeze time and that the weekend wasn’t drawing to a close because it had been the best few days of her life.

They’d explored his vast estate, scrambling up hilly roads to be rewarded with spectacular views of blue-green mountains and the terracotta smudge of tiny villages. Her hiking boots had come in useful after all! He’d taken her to a beautiful village called Panicale, where they’d drunk coffee in the cobbled square with church bells chiming in stereophonic all around them. And even though Renzo had assured her that May temperatures were too cold for swimming, Darcy wasn’t having any of it. She’d never been anywhere with a private pool before—let alone a pool as vast and inviting as the one at Vallombrosa.

Initially a little shy about appearing in her tiny bikini, she’d been quickly reassured by the darkening response in his eyes—though she’d been surprised when he’d changed his mind and decided to join her in the pool after all. And Renzo in sleek black swim shorts, olive skin gleaming as he shook water from his hair, was a vision which made her heart race. She could have spent all afternoon watching his powerful body ploughing through the silky water. But he’d brought her lazy swim to a swift conclusion with some explicit suggestions whispered in her ear and they had returned to his bedroom for sex which had felt even more incredible than usual.

Was it because her senses had been heightened by fresh air and sunshine that everything felt so amazing? Or because Renzo had seemed unusually accessible in this peaceful place which seemed a world away from the hustle and bustle of her normal life? Darcy kept reminding herself that the reasons why were irrelevant. Because this was only temporary. A last trip before she moved to Norfolk—which was probably the only reason he had invited her to join him. And tonight was their final dinner, when they were being joined by Renzo’s lawyer, who was buying the Sabatini estate.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

‘Will you zip me up?’

‘Certo.’

‘So tell me again,’ she said, feeling his fingers brushing against her bare skin as he slid the zip of the close-fitting dress all the way up. ‘The lawyer’s name is Cristiano Branzi and his girlfriend is Nicoletta—’

‘Ramelli.’ There was a moment of hesitation and his eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘And—just so you know—she and I used to have a thing a few years back.’

In the process of hooking in a dangly earring, Darcy’s fingers stilled. ‘A thing?’

‘You really are going to have to stop looking so shocked, cara. I’m thirty-five years old and in Rome, as in all cities, social circles are smaller than you might imagine. She and I were lovers for a few months, that’s all.’

That’s all. Darcy’s practised smile didn’t waver. Just like her. Great sex for a few months and then goodbye—was that his usual pattern? Had Nicoletta been rewarded with a trip abroad just before the affair ended? But as she followed Renzo downstairs she was determined not to spoil their last evening and took the champagne Stefania offered, hoping she displayed more confidence than she felt as she rose to greet their guests.

Cristiano was a powerfully built man with piercing blue eyes and Darcy thought Nicoletta the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The Italian woman’s sleek dark hair was swept up into a sophisticated chignon and she wore a dress which was obviously designer made. Real diamond studs glittered at her ears, echoing the smaller diamonds which sparkled in a watch which was slightly too loose for her narrow wrist. Darcy watched as she presented each smooth cheek in turn to be kissed by Renzo, wondering why she hadn’t worn the turquoise dress after all. Why hadn’t she realised that of course the Italian woman would also wear black, leaving the two of them wide open for comparison? How cheap her own glimmering gown must seem in comparison—and how wild her untameable red curls as they spilled down over her shoulders towards breasts which were much too large by fashionable standards.

‘So…’ Nicoletta smiled as they sat down to prosciutto and slivers of iced melon at a candlelit table decorated with roses. ‘This is your first time in Italy, Darcy?’

‘It is,’ answered Darcy, with a smile.

‘But not your last, I hope?’

Darcy looked across the table at Renzo, thinking it might bring the mood down if she suddenly announced that they were in the process of splitting up.

‘Darcy isn’t much of a traveller,’ he said smoothly.

‘Oh?’

Something made her say it. Was it bravado or stupidity? Yet surely she wasn’t ashamed of the person she really was. Not unless she honestly thought she could compete with these glossy people, with their Tuscan estates and diamond wristwatches which probably cost as much as a small car.

‘To be honest, I don’t really have a lot of money to go travelling.’ She slanted Nicoletta a rueful smile. ‘I’m a waitress.’

‘A waitress?’ Nicoletta’s silver fork was returned to her plate with a clatter, the dainty morsel she’d speared remaining untouched. ‘That is a very unusual job.’ There was a slightly perplexed pause. ‘So how did you and Renzo actually meet?’

Darcy registered the faint astonishment on Nicoletta’s face, but what had she expected? And now she had dropped Renzo in it. He was probably going to bluster out some story about how he’d bumped into her in a bookshop or been introduced at a party by a friend of a friend. Except he’d told her very specifically that he didn’t like lies, hadn’t he?

‘I met Darcy when she was working in a nightclub in London,’ Renzo said. ‘I walked in with some visiting colleagues and saw her serving cocktails to the people on the next table. She turned round and looked at me and that was it. I was completely blown away.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ murmured Cristiano. ‘I have never seen hair as bright as yours before, Darcy. I believe this is what they call the show-stopping look?’

The compliment was unexpected and Darcy met Renzo’s eyes, expecting to find mockery or anger in them but there was none. On the contrary, he looked as if he was enjoying the praise being directed at her and suddenly she wanted to turn and run from the room. Or tell him not to look at her that way because it was making her fantasise about a life which could never be hers.

She cleared her throat, trying to remember back to when she’d worked in that very hip restaurant which had been frequented by the media crowd. To remember how those high-profile people used to talk to each other when she arrived to offer them a bread roll, which they inevitably refused. They used to play everything down, didn’t they? To act as if nothing really mattered.

‘Oh, that’s quite enough about me,’ she said lightly. ‘I’d much rather talk about Tuscany.’

‘You like it here?’ questioned Nicoletta. ‘At Vallombrosa?’

‘Who could fail to like it?’ questioned Darcy simply. ‘There can’t be anywhere in the world as beautiful as this. The gardens are so lovely and the view is to die for.’ She smiled as she reached for a piece of bread. ‘If I had the money I’d snap it up in a shot. You’re a very lucky man, Cristiano.’

‘I’m very aware of that.’ Cristiano’s blue eyes crinkled. ‘Nobody can quite believe that Renzo has put it on the market at last, after years of everyone offering him vast amounts of money to sell it. And he won’t say what has suddenly changed his mind.’

But Darcy knew why. She’d seen the pain in his eyes when he’d talked about his parents’ divorce and suspected his stepmother’s death had made him want to let all that painful past go. He hadn’t said that much but it surprised her that he’d confided in her at all. For a little while it had made her feel special—more than just his ‘friend with benefits.’ But that was fantasy, too. It was easy to share your secrets with someone you knew was planning to leave you.

Except for her, of course. She was one of those people whose secrets were just too dark to tell.

Course after course of delicious food was served—stuffed courgette flowers, ultra-fine pasta with softshell crab and a rich dessert of cherries and cream—all accompanied by fine wines from Renzo’s cellar. Nicoletta skilfully fired a series of questions at her, some of which Darcy carefully avoided answering but fortunately Nicoletta enjoyed talking about herself much more. She waxed lyrical about her privileged upbringing in Parioli in Rome, her school in Switzerland and her fluency in four languages. It transpired that she had several dress shops in Rome, none of which she worked in herself.

‘You should come visit, Darcy. Get Renzo to buy you something pretty.’

Darcy wondered if that was Nicoletta’s way of subtly pointing out that the cheapness of her clothes hadn’t gone unnoticed, but if it was, she didn’t care. All she could think about right then was being alone with Renzo again as she tried not to focus on time slipping away from them. She returned to their room while he waved their guests goodbye and was naked in bed waiting for him when at last he came in and shut the door behind him.

‘You were very good during dinner,’ he said, unbuckling the belt of his trousers.

‘Good? In what way?’

‘A bewitching combination. A little defiant about your lowly job,’ he observed as he stepped out of his boxer shorts. ‘And there’s no need to look at me that way, Darcy, because it’s true. But your heartfelt praise about the property pleased Cristiano very much, though he’s always been a sucker for a pretty girl. He’s going to keep Gisella, Pasquale and Stefania on, by the way. He told me just before they left for Rome.’

‘So all’s well that ends well?’ she questioned brightly.

‘Who said anything about it ending?’ he murmured, climbing into bed and pulling her into his arms so that she could feel the hard rod of his arousal pushing against her. ‘I thought the night was only just beginning.’

They barely slept a wink. It was as if Renzo was determined to leave her with lasting memories of just what an amazing lover he was as he brought her to climax over and over again. As dawn coated the dark room with a pale daffodil light, Darcy found herself enjoying the erotic spectacle of Renzo’s dark head between her thighs, gasping as his tongue cleaved over her exquisitely aroused flesh, until she quivered helplessly around him.

She was slow getting ready the next morning and when she walked into the dining room, Renzo glanced up from his newspaper.

‘I need to leave for the airport soon,’ she said.

‘No, you don’t. We’ll fly back together on my jet,’ he said, pouring her a cup of coffee.

Darcy sat down and reached for a sugar cube. Start as you mean to go on. And remember that your future does not contain billionaire property tycoons with an endless supply of private transport.

‘Honestly, there’s no need,’ she said. ‘I have a return ticket and I’m perfectly happy to go back on FlyCheap.’

The look he gave her was a mixture of wry, indulgent—but ultimately uncompromising. ‘I’m not sending you back on a budget airline, Darcy. You’re coming on my jet, with me.’

And if Darcy had thought that travelling in a chauffeur-driven car was the height of luxury, then flying in Renzo’s private plane took luxury onto a whole new level. She saw the unmistakable looks of surprise being directed at her by two stewardesses as they were whisked through passport control at Florence airport. Were they thinking she didn’t look like Renzo’s usual type, with her cheap jewellery, her bouncing bosom and the fact that she was clearly out of her comfort zone?

But Darcy didn’t care about that either. She was just going to revel in her last few hours with her lover and as soon as he’d dismissed the flight crew she unzipped his jeans. As she pulled down his silk boxers she realised this was the last time she would ever slide her lips over his rocky length and hear his helpless groan as he jerked inside her mouth. The last time he would ever give that low, growling moan as he clamped his hands possessively around her head to anchor her lips to the most sensitive part of his anatomy. Afterwards, he made love to her so slowly that she felt as if she would never come down to earth properly.

But all too soon the flight was over and they touched down in England where his car was waiting. Darcy hesitated as the driver held open the door for her.

‘Could you drop me off at the Tube on the way?’

Renzo frowned, exasperation flattening his lips. ‘Darcy, what is this? I’m not dropping you anywhere except home.’

‘No. You don’t have to do that.’

‘I know I don’t.’ He paused before giving a flicker of a smile. ‘You can even invite me in for coffee if you like.’

‘Coffee?’

‘There you go. You’re sounding shocked again.’ He shook his head. ‘Isn’t that what normally happens when a man takes a woman home after the kind of weekend we’ve just had? I’ve never even seen where you live.’

‘I know you haven’t. But you’re not interested in my life. You’ve always made that perfectly clear.’

‘Maybe I’m interested now,’ he said stubbornly.

And now was too late, she thought. Why hadn’t he done this at the beginning, when it might have meant something? He was behaving with all the predictability of a powerful man who had everything he wanted—his curiosity suddenly aroused by the one thing which was being denied him.

‘It’s small and cramped and all I can afford, which is why I’m moving to Norfolk,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s about as far removed from where you live as it’s possible to be and you’ll hate it.’

‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Unless you’re ashamed of it, of course.’

Furiously, she glared at him. ‘I’m not ashamed of it.’

‘Well, then.’ He shrugged. ‘What’s the problem?’

But Darcy’s fingers were trembling as she unlocked her front door because she’d never invited anyone into this little sanctuary of hers. When you’d shared rooms and space for all of your life—when you’d struggled hard to find some privacy—then something which was completely your own became especially precious. ‘Come in, then,’ she said ungraciously.

Renzo stepped into the room and the first thing he noticed was that the living, dining and kitchen area were all crammed into the same space. And…his eyes narrowed…was that a narrow bed in the corner?

The second thing he noticed was how clean and unbelievably tidy it was—and the minimalist architect in him applauded her total lack of clutter. There were no family photos or knick-knacks. The only embellishment he could see was a cactus in a chrome pot on the window sill and an art deco mirror, which reflected some much-needed extra light into the room. And books. Lots of books. Whole lines of them, neatly arranged in alphabetical order.

He turned to look at her. She had been careful about sitting in the Tuscan sun but, even so, her fair skin had acquired a faint glow. She looked much healthier than she’d done when she’d arrived at Vallombrosa, that was for sure. In fact, she looked so pretty in the yellow dress with blue flowers which she had stubbornly insisted on laundering herself, that he felt his heart miss a beat. And suddenly Renzo knew he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. He thought about the way she’d been in his arms last night. The way they’d taken their coffee out onto the terrace at Vallombrosa to stare at the moon, and he’d known a moment of unexpected peace. Why end something before it fizzled out all of its own accord, especially when it still had the potential to give him so much pleasure?

He glanced over towards her neat little kitchenette. ‘So… Aren’t you going to offer me coffee?’

‘I’ve only got instant, I’m afraid.’

He did his best to repress a shudder. ‘Just some water, then.’

He watched as she poured him a glass of tap water—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk that—and added an ice cube. But when she put the drink down on the table, he didn’t touch it. Instead, he fixed her with a steady gaze.

‘I’ve had a good weekend,’ he said slowly.

‘Me, too. Actually, it was more than good.’ She gave him a quick smile. ‘Thank you.’

There was a pause. ‘Look, this move to Norfolk seems a little…hasty. Why don’t you stay in London a bit longer?’

‘I told you why—and now you’ve seen for yourself my reasons. I want to start living differently.’

‘I can understand that. But what if I told you I had an apartment you could use—somewhere much bigger and more comfortable than this? What then?’

‘What, just like that? Let me guess.’ Her emerald gaze bored into him. ‘Even if you don’t have one available, you’ll magically “find” an apartment for me? Browse through your extensive property portfolio or have one of your staff discreetly rent somewhere? Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m not interested, Renzo. I have no desire to be a “kept woman” and fulfilling the stereotype of being a rich man’s mistress, even if that’s the way I’m currently heading.’

Her stubbornness infuriated him but it also produced another spark of admiration. How could a woman with so little be so proud and spirited and turn down an offer anyone else in her position would have leapt at? Renzo picked up the iced water and sipped it before walking over to the window and looking out at a red-brick wall. He wondered what it must be like to wake up to this view every morning, before putting on some drab uniform to spend the rest of the day carrying trays of food and drink.

He turned round. ‘What if I asked you to delay going to Norfolk?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘And why would you do that?’

‘Oh, come on, Darcy,’ he said softly. ‘You may have been an innocent when I bedded you, but you’re not so innocent now. I have taught you a great deal—’

‘Perhaps there’s some kind of certificate I could nominate you for, if it’s praise you’re after?’

He gave a low laugh, turned on by an insolence he encountered from nobody else. He could see the wariness on her face as he took a step towards her, but he could also see the darkening of her eyes and the sudden stiffness of her body, as if she was using every bit of willpower not to give into what she really wanted. And Renzo knew enough about women to realise that this wasn’t over. Not yet.

‘It’s not praise I want,’ he said softly. ‘It’s you. I’m not ready to let you go.’ He reached out to smooth down her riotous curls and felt the kick of lust as he pulled her into his arms. ‘What if I told you that I liked the way you were with Cristiano and Nicoletta? That I find you charming in company as well as exquisite in bed and that maybe I’d like to take you out a little more. Why shouldn’t we go to the theatre, or a party or two? Perhaps I’ve been a little selfish keeping you locked away and now I want to show you off to the world.’

‘You make it sound as if I’ve passed some sort of hidden test!’ she said indignantly.

‘Maybe you have,’ came his simple reply.

Darcy was torn, because his words were dangerous. She didn’t want him showing her off to the world. What if someone remembered her? Someone who knew who she really was? And yet Renzo was only echoing the things she’d been thinking. Things she’d been trying and failing to deny—that she wasn’t yet ready to walk away either.

‘What if I gave you a key to my apartment?’ His voice broke into her thoughts.

‘A key?’ she echoed.

‘Why not? And—just so you know—I don’t hand out keys every day of the week. Very few people are given access to my home because I value my privacy very highly.’

‘So why me? To what do I owe this huge honour?’

‘Because you’ve never asked me for anything,’ he said quietly. ‘And nobody’s ever done that before.’

Darcy tried telling herself it was just another example of a powerful man being intrigued by the unfamiliar. But surely it was more than that. Wasn’t the giving of a key—no matter how temporary—a sign that he trusted her? And wasn’t trust the most precarious yet most precious thing in the world, especially considering Renzo’s lack of it where women were concerned?

She licked her lips, tempted beyond reason, but really—when she stopped to think about it—what was holding her back? She’d escaped her northern life and left that dark world behind as she’d carved out a new identity for herself. She’d been completely underqualified and badly educated but night classes had helped make up for her patchy schooling—and her sunny disposition meant she’d been able to find waitressing work whenever she had put her mind to it. She wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to be but she knew she was on her way. And who would possibly remember her after all this time? She’d left Manchester for London when she was sixteen and that was a long time ago. Didn’t she deserve a little fun while she had the chance?

He was watching her closely and Darcy was savvy enough to realise her hesitation was turning him on. Yet she wasn’t playing games with him. Her indecision was genuine. She really was trying to give him up, only it wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined. She was beginning to suspect that Renzo Sabatini was becoming an addiction and that should have set off every alarm bell in her body because it didn’t matter if it was drink or drugs or food—or in this case a man—addictions were dangerous. She knew that. Her personal history had taught her that in the bleakest way possible.

But now he was pulling her against him and she could feel all that hard promise shimmering beneath the surface of his muscular body. Enveloped by his arms, she found herself wanting to sink further into his powerful embrace, wanting to hold on to this brief sense of comfort and safety.

‘Say yes, Darcy,’ he urged softly, his breath warm against her lips. ‘Take my key and be my lover for a little while longer.’

His hand was on her breast and her knees were starting to buckle and Darcy knew then that she wasn’t going to resist him anytime soon.

‘Okay,’ she said, closing her eyes as he began to ruck up her dress. ‘I’ll stay for a bit longer.’

CHAPTER FIVE

THE LIMOUSINE SLID to a halt outside the Granchester Hotel as Renzo was caressing Darcy’s thigh and he found himself thinking that she’d never looked more beautiful than she did tonight. Hungrily, he ran his gaze over the emerald shimmer of her gown, thinking that for once she looked like a billionaire’s mistress.

He gave an almost imperceptive shake of his head. Didn’t she realise that, despite her initial reluctance, she was entitled to a mistress’s perks? He’d tried to persuade her that it would be easier all round if she enjoyed all the benefits of his wealth and made herself more available to him by giving up her lowly job, but she had stubbornly refused to comply. She’d told him he should be grateful she was no longer working in the nightclub and he had growled at the thought of her curvy body poured into that tight black satin while men drooled over her.

But tonight, a small victory had been won. For once she’d accepted his offer of a custom-made gown to wear to the prestigious ball he was holding in aid of his charity foundation, though it had taken some persuasion. His mouth flattened because where once her stubborn independence had always excited him, her independence was starting to rankle, as was her determination to carry on waiting tables even though it took up so much of her time.

‘The princess is supposed to be smiling when she goes to the ball,’ he observed wryly, feeling her sequin-covered thigh tense beneath his fingers. ‘Not looking as if she’s walking towards her own execution.’

‘But I’m not a princess, Renzo. I’m a waitress who happens to be wearing a gown which cost as much as I earn in three months.’ She touched her fingertips to one of the mother-of-pearl clips which gleamed like milky rainbows against the abundant red curls. ‘If you must know, I feel like Cinderella.’

‘Ah, but the difference is that your clothes will not turn into rags at midnight, cara. When the witching hour comes you will be doing something far more pleasurable than travelling home in a pumpkin. So wipe that concerned look from your face and give me that beautiful smile instead.’

Feeling like a puppet, Darcy did as he asked, flashing a bright grin as someone rushed forward to open the car door for her. Carefully, she picked up the fishtail skirt of her emerald gown and stepped onto the pavement in her terrifyingly high shoes, thinking how quickly you could get used to being driven around like this and having people leap to attention simply because you were in the company of one of the world’s most powerful men. What was not so easy was getting rid of the growing feeling of anxiety which had been gnawing away inside her for weeks now—a sick, queasy feeling which just wouldn’t shift.

Because she was starting to realise that she was stuck. Stuck in some awful limbo. Living in a strange, parallel world which wasn’t real and locked into it by her inability to walk away from the only man who had ever been able to make her feel like a real woman.

The trouble was that things had changed and they were changing all the time. Why hadn’t she realised that agreeing to accept the key to his apartment would strengthen the connection between them and make it even harder for her to sever her ties with him? It had made things…complicated. She didn’t want her heart to thunder every time she looked at him or her body to melt with instant desire. Her worst fears had been realised and Renzo Sabatini had become her addiction. She ran her tongue over her lips. She knew he was bad for her yet she couldn’t seem to give him up.

Sometimes she found herself longing for him to tire of her and kick her out since she didn’t have the strength to end it herself. Wouldn’t such a move force her to embrace the new life in Norfolk which she’d done absolutely nothing about—not since the day he’d given her his key and then made her come on the narrow bed in her humble bedsit, which these days she only ever visited when Renzo was away on business?

She could hear him telling his driver to take the rest of the night off and that they’d get a taxi home when the ball was over and she wished he wouldn’t be so thoughtful with his staff. No wonder they all thought the world of him. But Darcy didn’t need any more reasons to like him. Hadn’t it been easier not to let her heart become involved when their affair had been more low-key, rather than this new-found openness with trips to the opera and theatre and VIP balls?

And now he was taking her arm and leading her towards the red-carpeted marble staircase where the paparazzi were clustered. She’d known they were going to be there, but had also known she couldn’t possibly avoid them. And anyway, they weren’t going to be looking at her. They would be far too busy focussing on the Hollywood actress who was wearing the most revealing dress Darcy had ever seen, or the married co-star she was rumoured to be having an affair with.

Flashbulbs exploded to light up the warm night and although Darcy quickly tried to turn her head away, the press weren’t having any of it. And wasn’t that a TV camera zooming in on her? She wondered why she had let the dress designer put these stupid clips in her hair which meant she couldn’t hide behind the usual comforting curtain of her curls. This was the most high-profile event they’d attended as a couple but there had been no way of getting out of it—not when it was Renzo’s foundation and he was the man who’d organised it.

She felt like a fox on the run as they entered the ballroom but the moment she was swallowed up by all that glittering splendour, she calmed down. The gilded room had been decked out with giant sprays of pink-and-white cherry blossoms, symbolising the hope which Renzo’s foundation brought to suffering children in war-torn areas of the world. Tall, guttering candles gave the place a fairy-tale feel. On a raised dais, a string quartet was playing and the exquisitely dressed guests were mingling in small chattering groups. It was the fanciest event she’d ever attended and dinner had been prepared by a clutch of award-winning chefs. But the moment the first rich course was placed in front of her, Darcy’s stomach did an intricate kind of twist, which meant she merely pushed the food around her plate and tried not to look at it. At least Renzo didn’t notice or chide her for her lack of appetite as he might normally have done—he was too busy talking to fundraisers and donors and being photographed next to the diamond necklace which was the star lot for the night’s auction.

But after disappearing into one of the restrooms, where a splash of her face with cold water made her queasiness shift, Darcy became determined to enjoy herself. Stop living so fearfully, she chided herself as she chatted attentively whenever she was introduced to someone new and rose eagerly to her feet when Renzo asked her to dance. And that bit felt like heaven. His cheek was warm against hers and her body fitted so snugly into his that she felt like one of those salt and pepper shakers you sometimes found in old-fashioned tea rooms—as if they were made to be together. But they weren’t. Of course they weren’t.

She knew this couldn’t continue. She’d been seduced into staying but if she stayed much longer she was going to have to tell him the truth. Open up about her past. Confess to being the daughter of a junkie and all the other stuff which went with it. He would probably end their affair immediately and a swift, clean cut might just be the best thing. She would be heartbroken for a while of course, but she would get over it because you could get over just about anything if you worked at it. It would be better than forcing herself to walk away and having to live with the stupid spark of hope that maybe it could have worked.

‘So… How is the most beautiful woman in the room?’ He bent his head to her ear. ‘You seem to be enjoying yourself.’

She closed her eyes and inhaled his sultry masculine scent. ‘I am.’

‘Not as bad as you thought it was going to be?’

‘Not nearly so bad.’

‘Think you might like to come to something like this again in the future?’

‘I could be persuaded.’

He smiled. ‘Then let’s go and sit down. The auction is about to begin.’

The auctioneer stepped onto the stage and began to auction off the different lots which had been donated as prizes. A holiday in Mauritius, a box at the opera and a tour of Manchester United football ground all went under the hammer for eye-watering amounts, and then the diamond necklace was brought out to appreciative murmurs.

Darcy listened as the bidding escalated, only vaguely aware of Renzo lifting a careless finger from time to time. But suddenly everyone was clapping and looking at them and she realised that Renzo had successfully bid for the necklace and the auctioneer’s assistant had handed it to him and he was putting it on her neck. She was aware of every eye in the room on them as he fixed the heavy clasp in place and she was aware of the dazzle of the costly gems.

‘In truth you should wear emeralds to match your eyes,’ he murmured. ‘But since diamonds were the only thing on offer they will have to do. What do you think, cara?’

Darcy couldn’t get rid of the sudden lump in her throat. It felt like a noose. The stones were heavy and the metal was cold. But there was no time to protest because cameras were flashing again and this time they were all directed at her. Sweat beaded her forehead and she felt dizzy, only able to breathe normally when the rumour went round that the Hollywood star was exiting through the kitchens and the press pack left the ballroom to follow her.

Darcy turned to Renzo, her fingertips touching the unfamiliar stones. ‘You do realise I can’t possibly accept this?’ she questioned hoarsely.

‘And you do realise that I am not going to let you give it back? Your tastes are far too modest for a woman in your position. You are the lover of a very wealthy man, Darcy, and I want you to wear it. I want you to have some pretty jewels for all the pleasure you’ve given me.’

His voice had dipped into a silken caress, which usually would have made her want to melt, but he made it sound like payment for services rendered. Was that how he saw it? Darcy’s smile felt as if someone had stitched it onto her face with a rusty needle. Shouldn’t she at least try to look as a woman should look when a man had just bought something this valuable? And wasn’t she in danger of being a hypocrite? After all, she had a key to his Belgravia home—wasn’t that just a short step to accepting his jewels? What about the designer dress she was wearing tonight, and the expensive shoes? He’d bought those for her, hadn’t he?

Something like fear clutched at her heart and she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She was going to have to come clean about her mum and the children’s home and all the other sordid stuff.

So tell him. Explain your aversion to accepting gifts and bring this whole crazy relationship to a head, because at least that will end the uncertainty and you’ll know where you stand.

But in the car he kissed her and when they reached the apartment he kissed her some more, unclipping the diamond choker and dropping it onto a table in the sitting room as casually as if it had been made of paste. His hands were trembling as he undressed her and so were hers. He made love to her on one of the sofas and then he carried her into the bedroom and did it all over again—and who would want to talk about the past at a moment like that?

They made love most of the night and because she’d asked for a day off after the ball, Darcy slept late next morning. When she eventually woke, it was getting on for noon and Renzo had left for the office long ago. And still she hadn’t told him. She showered and dressed but her queasiness had returned and she could only manage some mint tea for breakfast. The morning papers had been delivered and, with a growing sense of nervousness, she flicked through the pages until she found the column which listed society events. And there she was in all her glory—in her mermaid dress of green sequins, the row of fiery white diamonds glittering at her throat, with Renzo standing just behind her, a hint of possessiveness in the sexy smile curving his lips.

She stood up abruptly, telling herself she was being paranoid. Who was going to see, or, more important, to care that she was in the wretched paper?

The morning slipped away. She went for a walk, bought a bag of oranges to put through the squeezer and was just nibbling on a piece of dry toast when the doorbell rang and Darcy frowned. It never rang when Renzo wasn’t here—and not just because his wasn’t a lifestyle where people made spontaneous visits. He’d meant what he said about guarding his privacy; his home really was his fortress. People just didn’t come round.

She pressed the button on the intercom.

‘Yes?’

‘Is that Darcy Denton?’ It was a male voice with a broad Manchester accent.

‘Who is this?’ she questioned sharply.

‘An old friend of yours.’ There was a pause. ‘Drake Bradley.’

For a minute Darcy thought she might pass out. She thought about pretending to be someone else—the housekeeper perhaps. Or just cutting the connection while convincing herself that she didn’t have to speak to anyone—let alone Drake Bradley. But the bully who had ruled the roost in the children’s home had never been the kind of person to take no for an answer. If she refused to speak to him she could imagine him settling down to wait until Renzo got home and she just imagined what he might have to say to him. Shivering, she stared at her pale reflection in the hall mirror. What was it they said? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

‘What do you want?’

‘Just a few minutes of your time. Surely you can spare that, Darcy.’

Telling herself it was better to brazen it out, Darcy pressed the buzzer, her heart beating out a primitive tattoo as she opened the door to find Drake standing there—a sly expression on his pockmarked face. A decade had made his hair recede, but she would have recognised him immediately and her blood ran cold as the sight of him took her back to a life she’d thought she’d left for ever.

‘What do you want?’ she asked again.

‘That’s not much of a welcome, is it? What’s the matter, Darcy? Aren’t you going to invite me in? Surely you’re not ashamed of me?’

But the awful thing was that she was. She’d moved on a lot since that turbulent period when their lives had merged and clashed, yet Drake looked as if he’d been frozen in time. Wearing clothes which swamped his puny frame, he had oil beneath his fingernails and on the fingers of his left hand were the letters H, A, T, E. You have no right to judge him, she told herself. He was simply another survivor from the shipwreck of their youth. Surely she owed him a little hospitality when she’d done so well for herself.

She could smell stale tobacco and the faint underlying odour of sweat as she opened the door wider and he brushed past her. He followed her into the enormous sitting room and she wondered if he was seeing the place as she had seen it the first time she’d been here, when she’d marvelled at the space and light and cleanliness. And, of course, the view.

‘Wow.’ He pursed his lips together and whistled as he stared out at the whispering treetops of Eaton Square. ‘You’ve certainly landed on your feet, Darcy.’

‘Are you going to tell me why you’re here?’

His weasel eyes narrowed. ‘Not even going to offer me a drink? It’s a hot day outside. I could murder a drink.’

Darcy licked her lips. Don’t aggravate him. Tolerate him for a few minutes and then he’ll go. ‘What would you like?’

‘Got a beer?’

‘Sure.’

Her underlying nausea seemed to intensify as Darcy went to the kitchen to fetch him a beer. When she returned he refused her offer of a glass and began to glug greedily from the bottle.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked, once he had paused long enough to take a breath.

He put the bottle down on a table. ‘Saw you on the news last night, walking into that big hotel. Yeah. On TV. Couldn’t believe my eyes at first. I thought to myself, that can’t be Darcy Denton—daughter of one of Manchester’s best known hookers. Not on the arm of some rich dude like Sabatini. So I headed along to the hotel to see for myself and hung around until your car arrived. I’m good at hanging around in the shadows, I am.’ He smiled slyly. ‘I overheard your man giving the address to the taxi driver so I thought I’d come and pay you a visit to catch up on old times. See for myself how you’ve come up in the world.’

Darcy tried to keep her voice light. To act as if her heart weren’t pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst right out of her chest. ‘You still haven’t told me what you want.’

His smile grew calculating. ‘You’ve landed on your feet, Darcy. Surely it’s no big deal to help out an old friend?’

‘Are you asking for money?’ she said.

He sneered. ‘What do you think?’

She thought plenty but nothing she’d want him to hear. She thought about how much cash she had squirrelled away in her bank account. She’d amassed funds since she’d been with Renzo because he wouldn’t let her pay for anything. But it was still a pitiful amount by most people’s standards, and besides…if you gave in to blackmail once then you opened up the floodgates.

And she didn’t need to give into blackmail because hadn’t she already decided to tell Renzo about her past? This might be the push she needed to see if he still wanted her when he discovered who she really was. Her mouth dried. Dared she take that risk?

She had no choice.

Drawing her shoulders back, she looked straight into Drake’s shifty eyes. ‘You’re not getting any money from me,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d like you to leave and not bother coming back.’

His lip curled and then he shrugged. ‘Have it your own way, Darcy.’

Of course, if she’d thought it through properly, she might have wondered why he obeyed her quite so eagerly…

Renzo’s eyes narrowed as the man with the pockmarked face shoved his way past, coming out of his private elevator as if he had every right to do so. His frown deepened. Had he been making some kind of delivery? Surely not, dressed like that? He stood for a moment watching his retreating back, instinct alerting him to a danger he didn’t quite understand. But it was enough to cast a shadow over a deliciously high mood which had led to him leaving work early—something which had caused his secretary to blink at him in astonishment.

In truth, Renzo had been pretty astonished himself. Taking a half-day off wasn’t the way he usually operated, but he had wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with Darcy. Getting into bed with her. Running his fingers through her silky riot of curls. Losing himself deep in her tight, tight body with his mouth on her breast. Maybe even telling her how good she made him feel. Plus he’d received an urgent message reminding him that he needed to insure the necklace he’d spent a fortune on last night.

After watching the man leave the building, Renzo took the penthouse elevator where the faint smell of tobacco and beer still tainted the air. He unlocked the door to his apartment just as Darcy tore out of the sitting room. But the trouble was she didn’t look like the Darcy of this morning’s smouldering fantasies, when somehow he’d imagined arriving home to see her clad in that black satin basque and matching silk stockings he’d recently bought. Not only was she wearing jeans and a baggy shirt—her face was paler than usual and her eyes looked huge and haunted with something which looked like guilt. Now, why was that? he wondered.

‘Renzo!’ she exclaimed, raking a handful of bouncing red curls away from her forehead and giving him an uncertain smile. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘So I see.’ He put his briefcase on the hall table. ‘Who was the man I saw leaving?’

‘The man?’ she questioned, but he could hear the sudden quaver in her voice.

Definitely guilt, he thought grimly.

‘The man I met coming down in the elevator. Bad skin. Bad smell. Who was he, Darcy?’

Darcy met the cool accusation in Renzo’s eyes and knew she had run out of reasons not to tell him.

‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.

He didn’t respond straight away, just walked into the sitting room leaving her to follow him, her senses alerted to the sudden tension in his body and the forbidding set of his shoulders. Usually, he pulled her into his arms and kissed all the breath out of her when he arrived home but today he hadn’t even touched her. And when he turned around, Darcy was shocked by the cold expression on his face.

‘So talk,’ he said.

She felt like someone who’d been put on stage in front of a vast audience and told to play a part she hadn’t learnt. Because she’d never spoken about this before, not to anyone. She’d buried it so deep it was almost inaccessible. But she needed to access it now, before his irritation grew any deeper.

‘He’s someone I was in care with.’

‘In care?’

She nodded. ‘That’s what they call it in England, although it’s a bit of a misnomer because you don’t actually get much in the way of care. I lived in a children’s home in the north for most of my childhood.’

His black eyes narrowed. ‘What happened to your parents?’

Darcy could feel a bead of sweat trickling its way down her back. Here it was. The question which separated most normal people from the unlucky few. The question which made you feel a freak no matter which way you answered it. Was it any wonder she’d spent her life trying to avoid having to do so?

And yet didn’t it demonstrate the shallowness of her relationship with Renzo that in all the time she’d known him—this was the first time he’d actually asked? Dead parents had been more than enough information for him. He hadn’t been the type of person to quiz her about her favourite memory or how she’d spent her long-ago Christmases.

‘I’m illegitimate,’ she said baldly. ‘I don’t know who my father was and neither did my mother. And she… Well, for a lot of my childhood, she wasn’t considered fit to be able to take care of me.’

‘Why not?’

‘She had…’ She hesitated. ‘She had a drug problem. She was a junkie.’

He let out a long breath and Darcy found herself searching his face for some kind of understanding, some shred of compassion for a situation which had been out of her control. But his expression remained like ice. His black eyes were stony as they skimmed over her, looking at her as if it was the first time he’d seen her and not liking what they saw.

‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?’

‘Because you didn’t ask. And you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to know!’ she exclaimed. ‘You made that very clear. We haven’t had the kind of relationship where we talked about stuff like this. You just wanted…sex.’

She waited for him to deny it. To tell her that there had been more to it than that—and Darcy realised she was already thinking of their relationship in the past tense. But he didn’t deny it. His sudden closed look made his features appear shuttered as he walked over to the table near where he’d undressed her last night and her heart missed a beat as she saw him looking down at the polished surface, on which stood a lamp and nothing else.

Nothing else.

It took a moment for her to register the significance of this and that moment came when he lifted his black gaze to hers and slanted her an unfathomable look. ‘Where’s the necklace?’ he questioned softly.

Darcy’s mind raced. In the heat of everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about the diamond necklace he’d bought last night for her at the auction. She vaguely remembered the dazzle of the costly gems as he’d dropped them onto the table, but his hands had been all over her at the time and it had blotted out everything except the magic of his touch. Had she absent-mindedly tidied it away when she was picking up her clothes this morning? No. It had definitely been there when…

Fear and horror clamped themselves around her suddenly racing heart.

When…

Drake! Her throat dried as she remembered leaving him alone in the room while she went to fetch him a beer. Remembered the way he’d hurriedly left after his half-hearted attempt at blackmail. Had Drake stolen the necklace?

Of course he had.

‘I don’t—’

His voice was like steel. ‘Did your friend take it?’

‘He’s not—’

‘What’s the matter, Darcy?’ Contemptuously, he cut through her protest. ‘Did I arrive home unexpectedly and spoil your little plan?’

‘What plan?’

‘Oh, come on. Isn’t this what’s known in the trade as a scam? To rob me. To cheat on me.’

Darcy stared at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t honestly believe that?’

‘Can’t I? Perhaps it’s the first clear-headed thought I’ve had in a long time, now that I’m no longer completely mesmerised by your pale skin and witchy eyes.’ He shook his head like a man who was emerging from a deep coma. ‘Now I’m beginning to wonder whether something like this was in your sights all along.’

Darcy felt foreboding icing her skin. ‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered.

‘I’ve often wondered,’ he said harshly, ‘what you might give a man who has everything. Another house, or a faster car?’ He shook his head. ‘No. Material wealth means nothing when you have plenty. But innocence—ah! Now that is a very different thing.’

‘You’re not making sense.’

‘Think about it. What is a woman’s most prized possession, cara mia?’ The Italian words of endearment dripped like venom from his lips. ‘Sì. I can see from your growing look of comprehension that you are beginning to understand. Her virginity. Precious and priceless and the biggest bartering tool in the market. And hasn’t it always been that way?’

‘Renzo.’ She could hear the desperation in her voice now but she couldn’t seem to keep it at bay. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Sometimes I would ask myself,’ he continued, still in that same flat tone, ‘why someone as beautiful and sensual as you—someone hard-up and working in a dead-end job—hadn’t taken a rich lover to catapult herself out of her poverty before I came along.’

Desperation morphed into indignation. ‘You mean…use a man as a meal ticket?’

‘Why are you looking so shocked—or is that simply an expression you’ve managed to perfect over the years? Isn’t that what every woman does ultimately—feed like a leech off a man?’ His black gaze roved over her. ‘But not you. At least, not initially. Did you decide to deny yourself pleasure—to look at the long game rather than the lure of instant gratification? To hold out for the richest man available, who just happened to be me—someone who was blown away by your extraordinary beauty coupled with an innocence I’d never experienced before?’ He gave a cynical smile. ‘But you were cunning, too. I see that now. For a cynic like me, a spirited show of independence was pretty much guaranteed to wear me down. So you refused my gifts. You bought cheap clothes and budget airline tickets while valiantly offering me the money you’d saved. What a touching gesture—the hard-up waitress offering the jaded architect a handful of cash. And I fell for it—hook, line and sinker! I was sucked in by your stubbornness and your pride.’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ she defended fiercely.

‘You must have thought you’d hit the jackpot when I gave you the key to my flat and bought you a diamond necklace,’ he bit out. ‘Just as I did when you gave yourself so willingly to me and I discovered you were a virgin. I allowed my ego to be flattered and to blind myself to the truth. How could I have been so blind?’

Darcy felt her head spin and that horrible queasy feeling came washing over her again, in giant waves. This couldn’t be happening. In a minute she would wake up and the nightmare would be over. But it wouldn’t, would it? She was living her nightmare and the proof was right in front of her eyes. In the midst of her confusion and hurt she saw the look of something like satisfaction on Renzo’s face. She remembered him mentioning his parents’ divorce and how bitterly he’d said that women could never be trusted. Was he somehow pleased that his prejudices had been reinforced and he could continue thinking that way? Yes, he was, she realised. He wanted to believe badly of her.

She made one last attempt because wasn’t there still some tiny spark of hope which existed—a part which didn’t want to let him go? ‘None of that—’

‘Save your lying words because I don’t want to hear them. You’re only upset because I came home early and found you out. How were you going to explain the absence of the necklace, Darcy?’ he bit out. ‘A “burglary” while you were out shopping? Shifting the blame onto one of the people who service these apartments?’

‘You think I’d be capable of that?’

‘I don’t know what you’re capable of, do I?’ he said coldly. ‘I just want you to listen to what I’m going to say. I’m going out and by the time I get back I want you out of here. Every last trace of you. I don’t ever want to see your face again. Understand? And for what it’s worth—and I’m sure you realise it’s a lot—you can keep the damned necklace.’

‘You’re not going to go to the police?’

‘And advertise exactly what kind of woman my girlfriend really is and the kind of low-life company she keeps? That wouldn’t exactly do wonders for my reputation, would it? Do whatever you’d planned to do with it all along.’ He paused and his mouth tightened as his black gaze swept down over her body. ‘Think of it as payment for services rendered. A clean-break pay-off, if you like.’

It was the final straw. Nausea engulfed her. She could feel her knees buckling and a strange roaring in her head. Her hand reached out to grab at the nearest chair but she missed and Darcy felt herself sliding helplessly to the ground, until her cheek was resting on the smooth silk of the Persian rug and her eyes were level with his ankles and the handmade Italian shoes which swum in and out of focus.

His voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘And you can spare me the histrionics, Darcy. They won’t make me change my mind.’

‘Who’s asking you to change your mind?’ she managed, from beneath gritted teeth.

She saw his shadow move as he stepped over her and a minute later she heard the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And after that, thankfully, she passed out.

CHAPTER SIX

‘YOU CAN’T GO ON like this, Darcy, you really can’t.’

The midwife sounded both kind and stern and Darcy was finding it difficult keeping her lips from wobbling. Because stern she could handle. Stern was something she was used to. It was the kindness which got to her every time, which made her want to cover her face with her hands and howl like a wounded animal. And she couldn’t afford to break down, because if she did—she might never put herself back together again.

Her hand slipped down to her belly. ‘You’re sure my baby’s okay?’ she questioned for the fourth time.

‘Your baby’s fine. Take a look at the scan and see. A little bit on the small side perhaps, but thriving. Unlike you. You’re wearing yourself out,’ continued the midwife, a frown creasing her plump face. ‘You’re working too hard and not eating properly, by the look of you.’

‘Honestly, I’ll try harder. I’ll…I’ll cut down on my hours at work and start eating more vegetables,’ said Darcy as she rolled up her sleeve. And she would. She would do whatever it took because all she could think about was that her baby was safe. Safe. Relief washed over her in almost tangible waves as the terror she’d experienced during that noisy ambulance ride began to recede. ‘Does that mean I can go home?’

‘I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m not very happy about letting you go anywhere,’ said the midwife. ‘Unless you’ve got somebody who can be there for you.’

Darcy tried not to flinch. She supposed she could pretend she had a caring mother or protective sister or even—ha, ha, ha—a loving husband. But that would be irresponsible. Because it wasn’t just her she was looking out for any more. There was a baby growing inside her. Her throat constricted. Renzo’s baby.

She tried not to tense up as the midwife began to measure her blood pressure. Things hadn’t been easy since Renzo had left her lying on the floor of his Belgravia apartment, accusing her of histrionics before slamming the door behind him. But Darcy’s unexpected faint hadn’t been caused by grief or anger, though it had taken a couple of weeks more to realise why a normally healthy young woman should have passed out for no apparent reason. It was when she’d found herself retching in the bathroom that she’d worked it out for herself. And then, of course, she wondered how she could have been so stupid to have not seen it before. It all added up. But her general queasiness and lack of appetite—even the lateness of her period—had been easy to overlook after Renzo had dumped her.

Of course she’d hoped. Hoped like mad she’d somehow got her dates muddled, but deep down she’d known she hadn’t because the brand-new aching in her breasts had told her so. She’d gone out to buy a pregnancy kit and the result had come as a shock but no great surprise. Heart racing, she’d sat on the floor of her bathroom in Norfolk staring at the blue line, wondering who to tell. But even if she had made some friends in her new home town, she knew there was only one person she could tell. Tears of injustice had stung her eyes. The man who thought she was a thief and a con woman. Who had looked at her with utter contempt in his eyes. But that was irrelevant. Renzo’s opinion of her didn’t really matter—all that mattered was that she let him know he was going to be a father.

If only it had been that easy. Every call she’d made had gone straight through to voicemail and she’d been reluctant to leave him her news in a message. So she’d telephoned his office and been put through to one of his secretaries for another humiliating experience. She’d felt as if the woman was reading from a script as she’d politely told her that Signor Sabatini was unavailable for the foreseeable future. She remembered the beads of sweat which had broken out on her forehead as she’d asked his secretary to have him ring her back. And her lack of surprise when he hadn’t.

‘Why…?’ Her voice faltered as she looked up into the midwife’s lined face. ‘Why do I have to have someone at home with me?’

‘Because twenty-eight weeks is a critical time in a woman’s pregnancy and you need to take extra care. Surely there must be someone you could ask. Who’s the baby’s father, Darcy?’

Briefly, Darcy closed her eyes. So this was it. The point where she really needed to be self-sacrificing and ignore pride and ego and instinct. For the first time in a long time images of Renzo’s darkly rugged face swam into her mind, because she’d been trying her best not to think about him. To forget that chiselled jaw and lean body and the way he used to put on those sexy, dark-rimmed glasses while he was working on plans for one of his buildings. To a large extent she had succeeded in forgetting him, banishing memories of how it used to feel to wake up in his arms, as she concentrated on her new job at the local café.

But now she must appeal for help from the man who had made her feel so worthless—whose final gesture had taken her back to those days when people used to look down their noses at her and not believe a word she said. She told herself it didn’t matter what Renzo thought when the hospital phoned him. That she didn’t care if he considered her a no-good thief because she knew the truth and that was all that mattered. Her hand reached down to lie protectively over her belly, her fingers curving over its hard swell. She would do anything to protect the life of this unborn child.

Anything.

And right at the top of that list was the need to be strong. She’d been strong at the beginning of the affair and it had protected her against pain. She’d done her usual thing of keeping her emotions on ice and had felt good about herself. Even during that weekend when he’d taken her to Tuscany and hinted at his trust issues and the fickleness of women, she had still kept her feelings buried deep. She hadn’t expected anything—which was why it had come as such a surprise to her when they’d got back to England and he’d offered her the key to his apartment.

Had that been when she’d first let her guard down and her feelings had started to change? Or had she just got carried away with her new position in life? Her plans to move to Norfolk had been quietly shelved because she’d enjoyed being his mistress, hadn’t she? She’d enjoyed going to that fancy ball with him, when—after her initial flurry of nerves—she’d waltzed in that cherry blossom–filled ballroom in his arms. And if things hadn’t gone so badly wrong and Drake hadn’t turned up, it probably wouldn’t have taken long for her to get used to wearing Renzo’s jewels either.

She’d been a fool and it was time to stop acting like a fool.

Never again would she be whimpering Darcy Denton, pleading with her cruel Italian lover to believe her. He could think what the hell he liked as long as he helped take care of her baby.

She opened her eyes and met the questioning look in the midwife’s eyes.

‘His name is Renzo Sabatini,’ she said.

Feeling more impotent than he’d felt in years, Renzo paced up and down the sterile hospital corridor, oblivious to the surreptitious looks from the passing nurses. For a man unused to waiting, he couldn’t believe he was being forced to bide his time until the ward’s official visiting hours and he got the distinct impression that any further pleas to be admitted early would by vetoed by the dragon-like midwife he’d spoken to earlier, who had made no secret of her disapproval. With a frown on her face she’d told him that his girlfriend was overworked and underfed and clearly on the breadline. Her gaze had swept over him, taking in his dark suit, silk tie and handmade Italian shoes and he could see from her eyes that she was sizing up his worth. He was being judged, he realised—and he didn’t like to be judged. Nor put in the role of an absentee father-to-be who refused to accept his responsibilities.

But amid all this confusion was a shimmering of something he couldn’t understand, an emotion which licked like fire over his cold heart and was confusing the life out of him. Furiously, he forced himself to concentrate on facts. To get his head around the reason he was here—why he’d been driven to some remote area of Norfolk on what had felt like the longest journey of his life. And then he needed to decide what he was going to do about it. His head spun as his mind went over and over the unbelievable fact.

Darcy was going to have a baby.

His baby.

His mouth thinned.

Or so she said.

Eventually he was shown into the side room of a ward where she lay on a narrow hospital bed—her bright hair the only thing of colour in an all-white environment. Her face was as bleached as the bed sheets and her eyes were both wary and hostile as she looked at him. He remembered the last time he’d seen her. When she’d slid to the floor and he had just let her lie there and now his heart clenched with guilt because she looked so damned fragile lying propped up against that great bank of pillows.

‘Darcy,’ he said carefully.

She looked as if she had been sucking on a lemon as she spoke. ‘You came.’

‘I had no choice.’

‘Don’t lie,’ she snapped. ‘Of course you did! You could have just ignored the call from the hospital, just like you’ve ignored all my other calls up until now.’

He wanted to deny it but how could he when it was true? ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘I could.’

‘You let my calls go through to voicemail,’ she accused.

Letting out a breath, Renzo slowly nodded. At the time it had seemed the only sane solution. He hadn’t wanted to risk speaking to her, because hadn’t he worried he would cave in and take her back, even if it was for only one night? Because after she’d gone he hadn’t been able to forget her as easily as he’d imagined, even though she had betrayed his trust in her. Even when he thought about the missing diamonds and the way she’d allowed that creep to enter his home—that still didn’t erase her from his mind. He’d started to wonder whether he’d made a big mistake and whether he should give her another chance, but pride and a tendency to think the worst about women had stopped him acting on it. He’d known that 50 per cent of relationships didn’t survive—so why go for one which had the odds stacked against it from the start? Yet she’d flitted in and out of his mind in a way which no amount of hard work or travelling had been able to fix.

‘Guilty as charged,’ he said evenly.

‘And you told your secretary not to put me through to you.’

‘She certainly would have put you through if she’d known the reason you were ringing. Why the hell didn’t you tell her?’

‘Are you out of your mind? Is that how you like to see your women, Renzo?’ she demanded. ‘To have them plead and beg and humiliate themselves? Yes, I know he doesn’t want to speak to me, but could you please tell him I’m expecting his baby? Or would you rather I had hung around outside the Sabatini building, waiting for the big boss to leave work so I could grab your elbow and break my news to you on a busy London street? Maybe I should have gone to the papers and sold them a story saying that my billionaire boyfriend was denying paternity!’

‘Darcy,’ he said, and now his voice had gentled. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of stealing the necklace.’

Belligerently, she raised her chin. ‘Just not sorry enough to seek me out to tell me that before?’

He thought how tough she was—with a sudden inner steeliness which seemed so at odds with her fragile exterior. ‘I jumped to the wrong conclusions,’ he said slowly, ‘because I’m very territorial about my space.’ But he had been territorial about her, too, hadn’t he? And old-fashioned enough to want to haul that complete stranger up against the wall and demand to know what he’d been doing alone with her. ‘Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. You shouldn’t be getting distressed.’

‘What, in my condition?’

‘Yes. Exactly that. In your condition. You’re pregnant.’ The unfamiliar word sounded foreign on his lips and once again he felt the lick of something painful in his heart. She looked so damned vulnerable lying there that his instinct was to take her in his arms and cradle her—if the emerald blaze in her eyes weren’t defying him to dare try. ‘The midwife says you need somebody to take care of you.’

Darcy started biting her lip, terrified that the stupid tears pricking at the backs of her eyes would start pouring down her cheeks. She hated the way this new-found state of hers was making her emotions zigzag all over the place, so she hardly recognised herself any more. She was supposed to be staying strong only it wasn’t easy when Renzo was sounding so…protective. His words were making her yearn for something she’d never had, nor expected to have. She found herself looking up into his darkly handsome face and a wave of longing swept over her. She wanted to reach out her arms and ask him to hold her. She wanted him to keep her safe.

And she had to stop thinking that way. It wasn’t a big deal that he’d apologised for something he needed to apologise for. She needed to remind herself that Renzo Sabatini wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the baby.

‘It’s the unborn child which needs taking care of,’ she said coldly. ‘Not me.’

His gaze drifted down to the black-and-white image which was lying on top of the locker. ‘May I?’

She shrugged, trying to ignore the tug at her heart as he picked it up to study it, as engrossed as she had ever seen him. ‘Suit yourself.’

And when at last he raised his head and looked at her, there was a look on his face she’d never seen before. Was that wonder or joy which had transformed his dark and shuttered features?

‘It’s a boy,’ he said slowly.

She’d forgotten about his precise eye and attention to detail, instantly able to determine the sex of the baby where most men might have seen nothing but a confusing composition of black and white.

‘It is,’ she agreed.

‘A son,’ he said, looking down at it again.

The possessive way his voice curled round the word scared her. It took her back to the days when she’d been hauled in front of social services who’d been trying to place her in a stable home. Futile attempts which had lasted only as long as it took her mother to discover her new address and turn up on the doorstep at midnight, high on drugs and demanding money in ‘payment’ for her daughter. What had those interviews taught her? That you should confront the great big elephant in the room, instead of letting it trample over you when you weren’t looking.

‘Aren’t you going to ask whether it’s yours?’ she said. ‘Isn’t that what usually happens in this situation?’

He lifted his gaze and now his eyes were flinty. ‘Is it?’

Angered by the fact he’d actually asked despite her having pushed him into it, Darcy hesitated—tempted by a possibility which lay before her. If she told him he wasn’t the father would he disappear and let her get on with the rest of her life? No, of course not. Renzo might suffer from arrogance and an innate sense of entitlement but he wasn’t stupid. She’d been a virgin when she met him and the most enthusiastic of lovers during their time together. He must realise he was the father.

‘Of course it’s yours,’ she snapped. ‘And this baby will be growing up with me as its mother, no matter how hard you try to take him away!’

As he put the photo back down with a shaking hand she saw a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘Do you really think I would try to take a child away from its mother?’

‘How should I know what you would or wouldn’t do?’ Her voice was really shaking now. ‘You’re a stranger to me now, Renzo—or maybe you always were. So eager to think badly of someone. So quick to apportion blame.’

‘And what conclusion would you have come to,’ he demanded, ‘if you’d arrived home to find a seedy stranger leaving and a costly piece of jewellery missing?’

‘I might have stopped to ask questions before I started accusing.’

‘Okay. I’ll ask them now. What was he doing there?’

‘He turned up out of the blue.’ She pushed away a sweat-damp curl which was sticking to her clammy cheek. ‘He’d seen a photo of me at the ball. He was the last person I expected or wanted to see.’

‘Yet you offered him a beer.’

Because she’d been afraid. Afraid of the damage Drake could inflict if he got to Renzo before she did because she hadn’t wanted her golden present to come tumbling down around her ears. But it had come tumbling down anyway, hadn’t it?

‘I thought he would blackmail me by telling you about my mother,’ she said at last, in a low voice. ‘Only now you know all my secrets.’

‘Do I?’ he questioned coolly.

She didn’t flinch beneath that quizzical black gaze. She kept her face bland as her old habit for self-preservation kept her lips tightly sealed. He knew her mother had been a drug addict and that was bad enough, but what if she explained how she had funded her habit? Darcy could imagine only too well how that contemptuous look would deepen. Something told her there were things this proud man would find intolerable and her mother’s profession was one of them. Who knew how he might try to use it against her?

Suddenly, she realised she would put nothing past him. He had accused her of all kinds of things—including using her virginity as some kind of bartering tool. Why shouldn’t she keep secrets from him when he had such a brutal opinion of her?

‘Of course you do. I’m the illegitimate daughter of a junkie—how much worse could it be?’ She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself to keep her nerve. ‘Look, Renzo, I know I’m expecting your baby and it must be the last thing you want but maybe we can work something out to our mutual satisfaction. I don’t imagine you’ll want anything more to do with me but I shan’t make any attempt to stop you from having regular contact with your son. In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to accommodate access to him.’ She forced a smile. ‘Every child should have a father.’

‘That’s good of you,’ he said softly before elevating his dark eyebrows enquiringly. ‘So what do you propose we do, Darcy? Perhaps you’d like me to start making regular payments until the baby is born? That way you could give up work and not have to worry.’

Hardly able to believe he was being so acquiescent, Darcy sat up in bed a little, nervously smoothing the thin sheet with her hand. ‘That’s a very generous offer,’ she said cautiously.

‘And in the meantime you could look for a nice house to live in for when our son arrives—budget no obstacle, obviously. In the country of your choice—that, too, goes without saying.’

She flashed him an uncertain smile. ‘That’s…that’s unbelievably kind of you, Renzo.’

‘And perhaps we could find you a street paved with gold while we’re at it? That way you could bypass me completely and simply help yourself to whatever it was you wanted?’

It took a moment or two for her to realise he was being sarcastic but the darkly sardonic look on his face left her in no doubt. ‘You were joking,’ she said woodenly.

‘Yes, I was joking,’ he bit back. ‘Unless you think I’m gullible enough to write you an open cheque so you can go away and bring up my son in whatever chaotic state you choose? Is that your dream scenario? Setting yourself up for life with a rich but absent babyfather?’

‘As if,’ she returned, her fingers digging into the thin hospital sheet. ‘If I had gone looking for a wealthy sperm donor, I’d have chosen someone with a little more heart than you!’

Her words were forceful but as Renzo absorbed her defiant response he noticed that her face had gone as white as the sheet she was clutching. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Darcy,’ he said, self-reproach suddenly rippling through him.

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

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

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

‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that,’ he said evenly. ‘But I will not have a Sabatini heir growing up illegitimately.’ He walked over to the window and stared out at the heavy winter clouds before turning back again. ‘This child stands to inherit my empire, but only if he or she bears my name. So yes, I will support you, Darcy—but it will be on my terms. And the first, non-negotiable one is that you marry me.’

She stared at him. ‘You have to be out of your mind,’ she whispered.

‘I was about to say that you have no choice but it seems to me you do. But be warned that if you refuse me and continue to live like this—patently unable to cope and putting our child at risk—I will be on my lawyers so fast you won’t believe it. And I will instruct them to do everything in their power to prove you are an unfit mother.’

Darcy shivered as she heard the dark determination in his voice. Because wouldn’t that bit be easy? If that situation arose he would start digging around in her past—and what a bonanza of further unsavoury facts he would discover. The drug addict bit was bad enough, but would the courts look favourably on the child of a prostitute without a single qualification to her name, one who was struggling to make ends meet and who had been admitted to hospital with severe exhaustion? Of course they wouldn’t. Not when she was up against a world-famous architect with more money than he knew what to do with.

She licked her lips, naked appeal in her eyes. ‘And if the marriage is unbearable, what then? If I do want a divorce sometime in the future, does that mean you won’t give me one?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to keep you a prisoner, Darcy—you have my word on that. Perhaps we could surprise ourselves by negotiating a relationship that works. But that isn’t something we need to think about today. My priority is to get you out of here and into a more favourable environment, if you agree to my terms.’ His gaze swept over her, settling at last on her face so that she was captured by the dark intensity of that look. ‘So…do I have your consent? Will you be my wife?’

A hundred reasons to refuse flooded into her mind but at that precise moment Darcy felt her son kicking. The unmistakable shape of a tiny heel skimmed beneath the surface of her belly and a powerful wave of emotion flooded over her. All she wanted was the best for her child, so how could she possibly subject him to a life like the one she had known? A life of uncertainty, with the gnawing sense of hunger. A life spent living on the margins of society with all the dangers that entailed. Secondhand clothes and having to make do. Free meals at school and charity trips to the seaside. Did she want all that for her little boy?

Of course she didn’t.

She stared into Renzo’s face—at all the unshakable confidence she saw written on his shuttered features. It would be easier if she felt nothing for him but she wasn’t self-deluding enough to believe that. She thought how infuriating it was that, despite his arrogance and determination to get his own way, she should still want him. But she did. Her mind might not be willing but her flesh was very weak. Even though he’d wounded her with his words and was blackmailing her into marriage—she couldn’t deny the quiver of heat low in her belly whenever he looked at her.

But sex was dangerous. Already she was vulnerable and if she fell into Renzo’s arms and let him seduce her, wouldn’t that make her weaker still? Once their relationship had been about passion but now it was all about possession and ownership. And power, of course—cold, economic power.

But a heady resolve flooded through her as she reminded herself that she’d coped with situations far worse than this. She’d cowered in cupboards and listened to sounds no child should ever have had to hear. She’d stood in courtrooms where people had talked about her future as if she weren’t there, and she’d come through the other side. What was so different this time?

She nodded. ‘Yes, Renzo,’ she said, with a bland and meaningless smile. ‘I will marry you.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

DARCY ALMOST LAUGHED at the pale-faced stranger in the mirror. What would the child she’d once been have thought about the woman whose reflection stared back at her? A woman dressed in clothes which still made her shudder when she thought about the price tag.

Her floaty, cream wedding gown had been purchased from one of Nicoletta’s boutiques in Rome and the dress cleverly modified to conceal her baby bump but nonetheless, Darcy still felt like a ship in full sail. Her curls had been tied and tamed by the hairdresser who’d arrived at the Tuscan villa they were renting now that Vallombrosa had been sold, and from which they had been married that very morning. Darcy had wanted to wear normal clothes for her marriage to Renzo, as if to reinforce that it was merely a formality she was being forced to endure, but her prospective husband had put his foot down and insisted that she at least looked like a real bride…

‘What difference does it make whether I wear a white dress or not?’ she’d questioned sulkily.

‘The difference is that it will feel more real if you wear white and carry flowers. You are a very beautiful woman, cara—and you will make a very beautiful bride.’

But Darcy had not felt at all real as she’d walked downstairs—though she couldn’t deny that the dark blaze in Renzo’s eyes had made her feel briefly beautiful. He had insisted they marry in Italy, presumably on the advice of his lawyers, who seemed to be running the whole show. But that part Darcy didn’t mind. A wedding in Italy was bound to be more low-key than a wedding in England, where the press were much more curious and there was the possibility of someone from her past getting wind of it. With all the necessary paperwork in place, they had appeared before the civil registrar in the beautiful medieval town of Barga, with just Gisella and Pasquale as their witnesses. And just four days later they had been legally allowed to wed.

It had been the smallest and most formal of ceremonies in an ancient room with a high, beamed ceiling and although Gisella had voiced a slight wistfulness that they weren’t having a religious service, Darcy, for one, was glad. It was bad enough having to go through something you knew was doomed, without having to do so before the eyes of the church.

But there had been a point when her heart had turned over and she’d started wishing it were real and that had been when Renzo had smiled at her once they’d been legally declared man and wife—his black eyes crinkling with a smile which had reminded her of the first time she’d met him. With his dark suit echoing the raven hue of his hair he’d made a sensational groom. And when he’d looked at her that way, he’d looked as if he actually cared—and she’d had to keep reminding herself that he didn’t. It had all been an act for the benefit of those around them. She was here because she carried his child and for no other reason. But it had been difficult to remember that when he’d pulled her into his arms in full view of everyone.

She’d felt so torn right then. Her instinctive response had been to hug him back because that was how she always responded and they hadn’t touched one another in any way since he’d turned up at the hospital with his ultimatum of a marriage proposal. But too much had happened for her to ever go back to that easy intimacy. How could she possibly lie in his arms and let him kiss her after all the cruel and bitter things which had been done and said? How could she bear to feel him deep inside her body when he’d been so eager to think badly of her?

She remembered freezing as his hands went to her expanded waist, feeling as if her body had suddenly turned to marble. ‘Please, Renzo,’ she’d whispered, her words a soft protest, not a plea.

But he hadn’t let her go or changed his position. He’d dipped his head and spoke to her in low and rapid English, his fingers spanning the delicate fabric of the dress and increasing the points at which he’d been in contact with her.

‘You are dressed to play the part of my bride and therefore you will act the part of my bride,’ he’d said softly. ‘Let’s show the world that I have married a flesh-and-blood woman and not some pale-faced doll.’

It was then that he’d bent his head to claim her lips and it had been the weirdest kiss of her life. At first her determination had made it easy not to respond, but the sensation of his lips on hers had soon melted away her reservations and she’d sunk into that kiss with an eagerness she hadn’t been able to disguise. She’d felt powerless beneath that brief but thorough exploration. She hadn’t been able to hold back her gasp as she’d felt that first sweet invasion of his tongue. Heat had flooded over her. Her hands had reached up to hold on to him as the beat of her heart had become erratic but suddenly the movement had become about so much more than support. Suddenly she’d been clinging to him and revelling in the feel of all that rock-hard flesh beneath her fingertips. She’d wanted him so much that she hadn’t even cared about his triumphant laugh of pleasure as he’d drawn his lips away because it had felt like for ever since he’d kissed her and it had tasted as delicious as having a drink after a dusty walk. Like the first hint of sweetness on your tongue when you badly needed the boost of sugar.

A kiss like that was the inevitable forerunner of intimacy and she must not let it happen again. She dared not…

‘You look miles away.’ Renzo’s low drawl broke into Darcy’s reverie and she watched his reflected body as he strolled in from the en-suite bathroom of their honeymoon suite, wearing nothing but a too-small white towel slung low over his hips. Crystalline droplets of water glittered like diamonds in his ebony hair and, despite knowing she shouldn’t be affected by his near-nakedness, Darcy’s brain was refusing to listen to reason and instead was sending out frantic messages to her pulse points.

It was the first time she’d seen him in a state of undress since the night of the ball, when they’d come home and he’d made rapturous love to her. The night before Drake had visited and the necklace had disappeared and her whole world had come crashing down around her. A necklace Renzo had been prepared to write off in his eagerness to be rid of her. It all seemed like a dream now and yet suddenly all that honed silken flesh was haunting her with everything she’d been missing.

‘So why,’ he questioned, his voice growing sultry as he walked over and stood behind her and wound one long finger around an errant curl, ‘did you let them put your hair up like that?’

Darcy swallowed because, from this position, far too much of his flesh was on show and his skin was still damp and soap-scented from the shower. ‘The hairdresser said loose hair would look untidy.’

‘But perhaps your husband doesn’t like it to look tidy,’ he mocked, pulling out one pearl-topped pin quickly followed by another. ‘He likes it to look wild and free.’

‘Which is slightly ironic given that you’re the most precise and ordered man on the planet. And I don’t remember giving you permission to do that,’ she protested as he continued to remove them.

‘I’m your husband now, Darcy. Surely I don’t have to ask permission to take your hair down?’

Glad for the tumble of curls concealing the reluctant lust which was making her cheeks grow so pink, Darcy stared down at her lap. ‘You’re my husband in name only,’ she said quietly.

‘So you keep saying. But since we’re sharing a room and a bed—’

‘Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. Tell me again why we’re sharing a bed.’

‘Because I need to keep an eye on you. I promised the midwife and the doctor.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘And that being the case—just how long do you think you can hold off from letting me make love to you when you’re as jumpy as a scalded cat whenever I come near?’

‘I think making love a rather inaccurate way to describe what we do,’ she said, sighing as the last curl tumbled free and he added the final pearl pin to the neat little line he’d assembled on the dressing table. ‘I wish we didn’t have this wedding party tonight.’

‘I know. You’d much rather be alone with me.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ His dark gaze was full of mockery. ‘But a wedding is a wedding and it is fitting to celebrate such a momentous occasion with friends. We don’t want them thinking our union is in name only, do we?’

‘Even if it is?’

‘Even if it is. So why not try playing your part with enthusiasm? Who knows? Sooner or later you might find the feelings have rubbed off.’ He stroked her hair. ‘You won’t have anything to do, if that’s what’s worrying you. The food, the wine and the guests have all been taken care of.’

‘And in the meantime I’m to be brought down and paraded around in my white dress like a cow in the marketplace?’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Looking at you now, that’s the very last image which springs to mind.’ He leaned forward, his hands on her shoulders, his mouth so close that she could feel his warm breath fanning the curls at the back of her neck. And suddenly his voice was urgent. ‘Listen to me, Darcy. Neither of us wanted this to happen but it’s what we’ve ended up with. I didn’t want to get married and I certainly didn’t plan to be a parent and neither, presumably, did you.’

Her lips folded in on themselves. ‘No.’

In the reflection of the glass their eyes met and Renzo wondered why, even in the midst of all this unwanted emotional drama, their chemistry should be as powerful as ever. Did she feel it too? She must.

He could see her nipples pushing against the silk of her wedding gown and the darkening of her emerald eyes, but the tight set of her shoulders and her unsmiling lips were telling him quite clearly to stay away. Once he had known her body completely, but not any more. Her bulky shape was unfamiliar now, just as she was. She was spiky, different, wary. It was difficult being around her without being able to touch her and, oh, how he wanted to touch her. That had not changed, despite everything which had happened. Her skin was luminous, her eyes bright, and the rampant red curls even more lustrous than before. Didn’t people say that a woman with child developed a glowing beauty all of her own? He’d never really thought about it before now—why would he?—but suddenly he knew exactly what they meant. He noticed the way she kept moving her hand to her growing bump, as if she were in possession of the world’s greatest secret.

Pregnant.

His mouth dried. It was still hard for him to get his head around that. To believe that a whole new life was about to begin and he must be responsible for it. He’d meant it when he told her he never wanted a family and not just because he recognised all the potential for pain which a family could bring. He had liked his life the way it was. He liked having to answer to no one except himself. And if every female who’d fallen into his arms had thought they’d be the one to change his mind, they had been wrong. He’d managed to get to the age of thirty-five without having to make any kind of commitment.

Had Darcy done what nobody else had been able to do—and deliberately got herself pregnant? But if that had been the case then he must take his share of the blame. He’d been so blown away by discovering she was a virgin that he couldn’t wait for her to go on the pill. He remembered the first time he’d entered her without wearing a condom and the indescribable pleasure he’d felt. It had been primitive, powerful and overwhelming but it hadn’t been wise. He had allowed sexual hunger to blind him to reason. He’d allowed her to take sole responsibility for birth control and look what had happened. His heart clenched tightly with an emotion he didn’t recognise as he stared into her green eyes.

‘Did you mean to get pregnant?’ he demanded.

He saw her flinch and compose herself before answering.

‘No,’ she answered quietly. ‘I had some sort of bug just before we went to Tuscany and I didn’t realise…’

‘That sickness would stop the pill from working?’

‘Apparently.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You weren’t warned that could happen?’

‘Probably—but with all the excitement about the holiday, I forgot all about it. It wasn’t deliberate, Renzo—if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘No woman in her right mind would want to tie herself to a man with ice for a heart, no matter how rich or well-connected he might be.’

And he believed her. He might wish he didn’t but he did. His pale-faced bride in the floaty dress was telling the truth. ‘So it seems we have a choice,’ he said. ‘We can go downstairs to our guests with good grace or I can take you kicking and screaming every inch of the way.’

‘I won’t embarrass you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have no desire to make this any more difficult than it already is.’

‘Good.’

Turning away, he dropped the towel and Darcy was treated to the distracting sight of his bare buttocks—each hard globe a paler colour than the dark olive of his back. She could see the hair-roughened power of those thighs and hated the way her stomach automatically turned over when she was doing everything in her power to fight her attraction.

‘Tempted?’ His voice was full of sensual mockery—as if he had the ability to read her expression even with his back turned. And she mustn’t let him realise the accuracy of his taunt. If she wanted to protect herself, she mustn’t let him get close to her—not in any way.

‘Tempted by what—our wedding feast?’ she questioned, sniffing at the air as if trying to detect the rich scents of cooking which had been drifting through the downstairs of the house all morning. ‘Absolutely! To be honest, I do have a little of my appetite back. I could eat a horse.’

He gave a low laugh as Darcy scuttled into the bathroom where she spent a long time fiddling with her hair, and when she returned to the bedroom it was to find him dressed in that head-turning way which only Italian men seemed able to pull off. His dark suit emphasised his broad shoulders and powerful physique and he’d left his silk shirt open at the neck to reveal a sexy smattering of dark hair.

Uncertainly, she skimmed her hand down over her dress. ‘Won’t I look a little overdressed?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ he said drily. ‘But probably not in the way you imagine.’

Her cheeks were still pink by the time they walked into the formal salon, which had been transformed with bridal finery by Gisella and a team of helpers from the nearby village. The cold winter weather meant they couldn’t venture out into the huge grounds, but instead enormous fires were blazing and dark greenery festooned the staircases and fireplace. There were white flowers, white ribbons and sugar-dusted bonbons heaped on little glass dishes. A towering croquembouche wedding cake took pride of place in the dining room and on a table at the far end of the room—a pile of beautifully wrapped presents which they’d expressly stated they didn’t want!

A loud burst of applause reached them as they walked in, along with cries of ‘Congratulazioni!’ and ‘Ben fatto, Renzo!’ The guests were all Renzo’s friends, and although he’d told her he would pay for anyone she wanted to fly out to Tuscany for the celebration, Darcy hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Because who could she invite when she’d lived her life a loner—terrified of forming any lasting commitments because of her past and the very real fear of rejection?

But she was pleased to see Nicoletta and not just because the glamourous Italian had helped with her trousseau. She’d realised that Renzo no longer had any lingering feelings about the woman he’d once had a ‘thing’ with. Darcy might have had an innate lack of self-confidence brought about by years of neglect, but even she couldn’t fail to see the way her husband was looking at her tonight—a sentiment echoed by Nicoletta.

‘I have never seen Renzo this way before,’ she confided as Darcy sucked limonata through a straw. ‘He can barely tear his eyes away from you.’

Darcy put her glass down. Because he was one of life’s winners, that was why. He would want his marriage to succeed in the way that his business had succeeded and because his own parents’ marriage had failed. That was why he was suddenly being so nice to her. And that scared her. It made her want to fight her instinctive attraction and to pull away from him. She didn’t dare sink into a false state of security which would leave her raw and hurting when their marriage hit the skids. Because it would. Of course it would. How long would it take before her brilliant husband tired of her once reality kicked in? Had he even stopped to consider how a wife at the mercy of fluctuating hormones might fit into his calm and ordered life, let alone all the change which a new baby would bring?

But the evening fared better than she would have imagined. Renzo’s obvious appreciation—whether faked or not—seemed to make everyone eager to welcome her into their midst. His friends were daunting, but essentially kind. She met lawyers, bankers and an eminent heart surgeon and although each and every one of them spoke to her in perfect English, she vowed to learn Renzo’s native tongue. Because suddenly, she caught a glimpse of what the future could be like if she wasn’t careful. Of Renzo and their son speaking a language which the new mamma couldn’t understand, with her inevitably being cast into the role of outsider.

And that could also be dangerous. Renzo had been reasonable before the marriage, but now she had his ring on her finger there was no longer any need for him to be. If she didn’t watch her back she would become irrelevant. She looked around at the elegant room her new husband was renting for what she considered an extortionate amount of money. Could she really envisage their son willingly accompanying her back to an unknown England and an uncertain future if the marriage became unbearable, and leaving all this privilege and beauty behind?

But she ate, chatted and drank her limonata, waiting until the last of their guests had gone before following Renzo up to their suite, her heart rattling loudly beneath her ribcage. She undressed in the bathroom, emerging wearing a nightgown Nicoletta had insisted on gifting her. It was an exquisite piece for a new bride to wear and one designed to be removed almost as soon as it had been put on. Despite the hard curve of her baby bump, the ivory silk-satin coated her body as flatteringly as a second skin. Edged with ivory lace, the delicate fabric framed the skin above her engorged breasts and the moment she walked into the bedroom Darcy saw Renzo’s eyes darken.

Her own answering tug of lust made her reconsider her decision to distance herself from him, because surely physical intimacy would provide some kind of release and lessen the unmistakable tension which had sprung up between them. But sexual intimacy could also be dangerous, especially in their situation. Something was growing inside her which was part of him and how could she bear to cheapen that by having sex which was nothing but a physical release?

She sat down heavily on the side of the bed, not realising that she’d given a little groan until he glanced across at her.

‘You must be tired.’

She nodded, suddenly feeling as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. ‘I am. But I need to talk to you.’

‘About…?’

‘Stuff.’

His smile was slow, almost wolfish. ‘Be a little bit more explicit, Darcy. What kind of stuff?’

She shrugged. ‘Where we’re going to live. Practicalities. That kind of thing. And we need to decide soon because I won’t be allowed to fly once I’m past thirty-six weeks.’

His self-assured shake of his head was tinged with the arrogant sense of certainty which was so much a part of him. ‘I have my own jet, Darcy. We can fly when the hell we like, provided we take medical support with us.’

She nodded as she pulled back the covers and got into the king-size bed, rolling over as far as possible until she had commandeered one side of it. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘But we still need to discuss it.’

‘Just not tonight,’ he said, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he joined her. ‘You’re much too tired. We’ll talk in the morning. And—just for the record—if you lie much closer to the edge, you’re going to fall off it in the middle of the night and, apart from the obvious danger to yourself, you might just wake me up.’ She heard the clatter as he removed his wristwatch and put it on the bedside table. ‘Don’t worry, Darcy, I’m reading your body language loud and clear and I have no intention of trying to persuade a woman to make love if she has set her mind against it.’

‘Something which has never happened to you before, I suppose?’ she questioned waspishly.

‘As it happens, no,’ he drawled. He snapped off the light. ‘Usually I have to fight them off.’

Darcy’s skin stung with furious heat. It was a lesson to never ask questions unless you were prepared to be stupidly hurt by the answer you might receive. Lying open-eyed in the darkness, almost immediately she heard the sounds of Renzo’s deep and steady breathing and fearfully she foresaw a restless night ahead, plagued by troubled thoughts about the future. But to her surprise she felt warm and cosseted in that big bed with a brand-new wedding ring on her finger. And, yes, even a little bit safe.

As the keen Tuscan wind howled outside the ancient house Darcy snuggled down into her pillow and, for the first time in a long time, slept soundly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RENZO INSISTED ON a honeymoon—cutting through Darcy’s automatic protests when she went downstairs the following morning to find him in the throes of planning it. As she glanced at the road map he’d spread out on the dining-room table, she told him it would be hypocritical; he said he didn’t care.

‘Maybe you’re just doing it to make the marriage look more authentic than it really is,’ she observed, once she had selected a slice of warm bread from the basket. ‘Since we haven’t actually consummated it.’

‘Maybe I am,’ he agreed evenly. ‘Or maybe it’s because I want to show you a little of my country and to see you relax some more. You slept well last night, Darcy.’ His black eyes gleamed but that was the only reference he made to their chaste wedding night, though she felt a little flustered as his gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts for slightly longer than was necessary. ‘And we can consummate it anytime you like,’ he said softly. ‘You do realise that, don’t you?’

She didn’t trust herself to answer, though her burning cheeks must have given away the fact that the subject was very much on her mind. Sharing a bed so he could keep an eye on her was more straightforward in theory than in practice. Because a bed was a bed, no matter how big it was. And wasn’t it true that at one point during the night her foot had encountered one of her new husband’s shins and she’d instinctively wanted to rub her toes up and down his leg, before hastily rolling away as if her skin had been scorched?

She told herself their situation was crazy enough but at least she was in full control of her senses—and if she had sex with him, she wouldn’t be. And she was afraid. Afraid that the pregnancy was making her prone to waves of vulnerability she was supposed to have left behind. Afraid he would hurt her if he saw through to the darkness at the very core of her. Because something had changed, she recognised that. He was being gentle with her in a way he’d never been before. She knew it was because she was carrying his baby but even so… It was intoxicating behaviour coming from such an intrinsically cold man and Darcy might have been bewitched by such a transformation, had she not instinctively mistrusted any type of kindness.

But she couldn’t get out of the ‘honeymoon’ he was planning and perhaps that was a good thing. It would be distracting. There would be things to occupy them other than prowling around their beautiful rented villa like two wary, circling tigers, with her terrified to even meet those brilliantine black eyes for fear he would read the lust in hers and act on it…

So she packed her suitcase with the warm clothes which had also been purchased from Nicoletta’s boutique and Renzo loaded it into the back of his sports car. The air was crisp as they drove through the mountains towards Italy’s capital, the hills softly green against the ice-blue sky as the powerful car swallowed up the miles. They stopped in a small, hilltop town for an early lunch of truffled pasta followed by torta della nonna and afterwards walked through narrow cobbled streets to the viewpoint at the very top, looking down on the landscape below, which was spread out like a chequered tablecloth of green and gold.

Darcy gave a long sigh as her elbows rested on the balustrade and Renzo turned to look at her.

‘Like it?’ he questioned.

‘It’s beautiful. So beautiful it seems almost unreal.’

‘But there are many beautiful parts of England.’

She shrugged, her eyes fixed on some unseen spot in the distance. ‘Not where I grew up. Oh, there were lots of lovely spaces in the surrounding countryside, but unless they’re on your doorstep you need funds to access them.’

‘Was it awful?’ he questioned suddenly.

She didn’t answer immediately. ‘Yes,’ she said, at last.

He heard the sadness in that single word and saw the way her teeth chewed on her bottom lip and he broke the silence which followed with a light touch to her arm. ‘Come on. Let’s try and get there before it gets dark.’

She fell asleep almost as soon as she got in the car and as Renzo waited in line at a toll gate, he found himself studying that pale face with its upturned freckled nose. Her red curls hung over one shoulder in the loose plait she sometimes wore and he thought that today she looked almost like a teenager, in jeans and a soft grey sweater. Only the bump reminded him that she was nearly twenty-five and soon going to have his baby.

Could they make it work? His leather-gloved fingers gripped the steering wheel as they moved forward. They had to make it work. There was no other choice, for he would not replicate his own bleak and fatherless childhood. He realised how little she’d actually told him about her own upbringing, yet, uncharacteristically, she had mentioned it today. And even though that haunted look had come over her face, he had found himself wanting to know more.

Wasn’t that his role now, as husband and prospective father—to break the ingrained rules of a lifetime and find out as much about Darcy as possible? And wasn’t the best way to do that to tell her something about him—the kind of stuff women had quizzed him about over years, to no effect. Because communication was a two-way street, wasn’t it? At least, that was what that therapist had told him once. Not that he’d been seeing her professionally. To him she was just a gorgeous brunette he’d been enjoying a very physical relationship with when she’d freaked him out by telling him that she specialised in ‘family therapy’ and he could confide in her anytime she liked. His mouth thinned. Maybe he should have taken her up on her offer and gathered tips about how to deal with his current situation.

Darcy woke as they drove into the darkening city whose ancient streets were deeply familiar to him from his own childhood. Taking a circuitous route, Renzo found himself enjoying her murmured appreciation of the Campidoglio, the Coliseum and other famous monuments, but he saw her jaw drop in amazement when he stopped outside the sixteenth-century palazzo on the Via Condotti, just five minutes from the Spanish Steps.

‘This isn’t yours?’ she questioned faintly, after he’d parked the car and they’d travelled up to the third floor.

‘It is now. I bought it a couple of years ago,’ he replied, throwing open the double doors into the main salon, with its high ceilings, gilded furniture and matchless views over the ancient city. ‘Although the Emperor Napoleon III happened to live here in 1830.’

‘Here? Good grief, Renzo.’ She stood in the centre of the room, looking around. ‘It’s gorgeous. Like…well, like something you might see in a book. Why don’t you live here? I mean, why London?’

‘Because my work is international and I wanted to establish a base in London and the only way to do that properly is to be permanently on-site. I don’t come back here as often as I should, but maybe some day.’

‘Renzo—’

But he cut her off with a shake of his head. ‘I know. You want to talk—but first you should unpack. Get comfortable. We need to think about dinner but first I need to do a little work.’

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.

‘Come with me and I’ll show you where the main bedroom is.’

Down a high-ceilinged corridor she followed him to yet another room which defied expectation. The enormous wooden bed had a huge oil painting on the wall behind it, with elaborate silk drapes on either side, which made it seem as if you were looking out of a window onto mountains and trees. Darcy blinked as she stared at it. How am I even here? she wondered as she unwound the soft blue scarf which was knotted around her neck. She looked around the room, taking in the antique furniture, the silken rugs and the priceless artwork. Yet this staggering display of a wealth which many people would covet had little meaning for her. She didn’t want things—no matter how exquisite they were. She wanted something which was much harder to pin down and which she suspected would always elude her.

She showered and changed into a cashmere tunic with leggings, padding barefoot into the salon to see her new husband at his computer, the familiar sight of one of his spectacular designs dominating the screen. But despite her noiseless entrance he must have heard her because he turned round, those dark-rimmed spectacles on his nose giving him that sexy, geeky look which used to make her heart turn over.

Still did, if she was being honest.

‘Room to your satisfaction?’ he questioned.

‘Bit cramped, actually.’

He gave the glimmer of a smile. ‘I know. Makes you claustrophobic. Hungry?’

‘After that enormous lunch?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Funnily enough, I am.’

‘Good.’ His gaze roved over her, black eyes gleaming as they lingered a little too long. ‘Looks like you have some catching up to do. You need to put some meat on those bones.’

She didn’t reply to that. She wasn’t going to tell him that she felt all breasts and bump. She wanted to tell him not to look at her body any more than was absolutely necessary.

And yet she wanted him to feast his eyes on it all day and make her glow inside.

‘We could eat out,’ he continued. ‘I could take you to Trastevere, where you can eat some real Italian food and not something designed to try to appeal to an international palate. Or…’

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. ‘Or?’

‘We could order in pizza.’

‘Here?’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged as she stared through an arch to see a long, softly polished dining table set with tall silver candelabra. ‘It seems way too grand.’

‘A table is there to be used, Darcy, no matter what you’re eating.’

It seemed decadent to find themselves there an hour later sitting on ormolu chairs, eating pizza with their fingers. As if they had broken into a museum and had temporarily set up home for the night.

‘Good?’ questioned Renzo as she popped the last piece of anchovy in her mouth and licked bright orange oil from her fingers.

‘Heaven,’ she sighed.

But it still seemed like a dream—as if it were happening to someone else—until they returned to the main salon and he asked her if she wanted mint tea. She didn’t know what made her ask if he had hot chocolate and was surprised when he said he’d find out—and even more surprised when he returned a few minutes later with a creamy concoction in a tall mug. A potent memory squeezed at her heart as she took the drink from him—perhaps it was the sweet smell of the chocolate which made the words slip out before she could stop them.

‘Wow! I haven’t had this since…’

She caught herself on but it was too late.

‘Since when?’

She kept her voice airy. ‘Oh, nothing to interest you.’

‘I’m interested,’ he persisted.

She wondered if the shaky way she put the mug down gave away her sudden nerves. ‘You’ve never been interested before.’

‘True,’ he agreed drily. ‘But you’re carrying my baby now and maybe I need to understand the mother of my child.’

And Darcy knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the issue—just as she knew that to do so would probably intrigue him. Even worse—it might make him start to do his own investigative work and then what might he discover? Her heart sank. She knew exactly what he would discover. He would discover the reason for the deep dark shame which still festered inside her. She stared at the cooling chocolate, wishing she could turn back time and that this time he wouldn’t ask. But you couldn’t turn back time. Just as you couldn’t hide everything from a man who was determined to find out.

‘It sounds so stupid—’

‘Darcy,’ he said, and his voice sounded almost gentle.

She shrugged. ‘The chocolate reminded me of going out to a café when I was a little girl. Going to meet some prospective new foster parents.’

The image came back to her, unbearably sharp and achingly clear. She remembered strawberry-covered cakes gleaming behind glass frontage and the waitresses with their starched aprons. It had been one of those awkward but hopeful meetings, with Darcy’s social worker the referee—observing the interaction between a little girl who badly needed a home and two adults who wanted to give her one. They’d bought her hot chocolate in a glass mug, topped with a hillock of whipped cream and a shiny cherry on top. She’d stared at it for a long time before she could bear to disturb its perfection and when she’d drunk from it at last, the cream had coated her upper lip with a white moustache and made everyone laugh. The laughter was what she remembered most.

‘Foster parents?’ prompted Renzo, his deep voice dissolving the image.

‘I didn’t have the most…stable of childhoods. My mother was seventeen when she was orphaned. The roads were icy and her father took the bend too fast. They said he’d been…drinking. The police knocked at her door on Christmas Eve and said she’d better sit down. She once told me that after they’d gone she looked at the Christmas tree and all the presents underneath it. Presents which would never be opened…’ Her voice trailed off. It had been a rare moment of insight and clarity from a woman whose life had been lived in pursuit of a constant chemical high. ‘And it… Well, it freaked her out.’

‘I’m not surprised. Did she have any relatives?’

Darcy shook her head. ‘No. Well, there were some on the west coast of Ireland but it was too late for her to get there in time for the holiday. And she couldn’t face intruding on someone else’s Christmas. Being the spectre at the feast. Being pitied. So she spent the holiday on her own and soon after she went to Manchester with the money she’d inherited from her parents but no real idea about a career. In fact, she had nothing to commend her but her looks and her new-found ability to party.’

‘Did she look like you?’ he questioned suddenly.

‘Yes. At least, at the beginning she did.’ Darcy closed her eyes. She’d seen pictures of a feisty-looking redhead with green eyes so like her own. Seen her tentative smile as that young woman cradled the infant Darcy in her arms. She didn’t want to tell Renzo what had happened to those looks—not when she couldn’t bear to think about it herself. ‘Before the drugs took hold. I was first taken into care at the age of two and I stayed there until I was eight, when my mother went to the courts to try to “win” me back, as she put it.’

‘And did she succeed?’

‘She did. She could put on a good performance when the need arose.’

‘And what was that like—being back with her?’

Darcy swallowed. How much could she tell him? How much before a look of disgust crossed his face and he started to worry whether she might have inherited some of her poor mother’s addictive traits—or the other, even more unpalatable ones? ‘I’ll leave that to your imagination,’ she said, her voice faltering a little. ‘She used me to interact with her dealer, or to answer the door when people she owed money to came knocking. There’s nothing quite like a child in an adult’s world for throwing things off balance.’

‘And were you safe?’ he demanded.

‘I was lucky,’ she said simply. ‘Lucky that some kind social worker went over and above the call of duty and got me out of there. After that I went to the children’s home—and, to be honest, I felt glad to be there.’

Not safe. Never really safe. But safer.

‘And what did you do when you left there?’

‘I came to London. Went to night school and caught up with some of the education I’d missed. It’s why I ended up waitressing—nobody really cares if you’ve got a GCSE in Maths if you can carry a tray of drinks without spilling any.’

There was no sound in the room, other than the ticking of some beautiful freestanding clock which Darcy suspected might have been in place when Napoleon himself was living there.

‘So…’ His voice was thoughtful now; his black eyes hooded. ‘Seeing as so much of your childhood was spent with people making decisions for you, where would you like to live when our baby is born, Darcy?’

Not only was it not the reaction she’d been expecting, it was also the most considerate question anyone had ever asked her and Darcy was terrified she was going to start blubbing—an over-the-top response from someone who’d experienced little real kindness in her life. But she needed to keep it together. She’d been given enough false hope in life to build Renzo’s offer up into something it wasn’t.

‘I would prefer to be in England,’ she said slowly. ‘Italy is very beautiful and I love it here but I feel like a foreigner.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Probably because I am.’

‘My apartment in Belgravia, then?’

She shook her head. ‘No. That won’t do. I don’t really want to go back there.’

He looked faintly surprised, as she supposed anyone might be if their new wife had just rejected a luxury apartment worth millions of pounds. ‘Because?’

Should she tell him that she felt as if she’d lived another life there? She’d behaved like someone she no longer recognised—with her balcony bras and her tiny panties. She’d been nothing but his plaything, his always-up-for-it lover who was supposed to have been expendable before all this happened. How could she possibly reconcile that Darcy with the woman she was now and the mother she was preparing to be? How could she bear to keep reminding herself that he’d never planned for her to become a permanent fixture in his life? ‘It’s not a place for a baby.’

He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re not suggesting we decamp to that tiny cottage you were renting in Norfolk?’

‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I think we both know that wouldn’t work. But I would like to bring up the baby away from the city.’ She licked her lips and her tongue came away with the salty flavour of capers. ‘Somewhere with grass and flowers and a park nearby. Somewhere you can work from, so it doesn’t necessarily have to be a long way out of London, just so long as it’s green.’

He nodded and gave a small smile. ‘I think we can manage that.’

‘Thank you.’

Hearing her voice tremble, Renzo frowned. ‘And you need to get to bed. Now. You look washed out.’

‘Yes.’ Awkwardly, she rose to her feet and walked across the room, feeling the soft silk of a Persian rug beneath her bare feet. But despite her initial reservations at having told him more than she’d ever told anyone, Darcy was amazed by how much lighter she felt. And she was grateful to him, too—stupidly relieved he’d managed to keep his shock and disgust to himself because most people weren’t that diplomatic. All she wanted now was to climb into bed and have him put his arms round her and hold her very tight and tell her it was going to be all right. She closed her eyes. Actually, she wanted more than that. Could they be intimate again? Could they? Hadn’t that book on pregnancy explained that sex in the latter stages was perfectly acceptable, just as long as you didn’t try anything too adventurous?

For the first time in a long time, she felt the faint whisper of hope as she brushed her teeth, her hands wavering as she picked up the exquisite silk nightgown she’d worn on her wedding night, feeling the slippery fabric sliding between her fingers. It was beautiful but it made her feel like someone she wasn’t. Or rather, somebody she no longer was. Wouldn’t it be better to be less obvious if she wanted them relaxed enough to get to know one another again? Shouldn’t it be a slow rediscovery rather than a sudden wham-bam, especially given the circumstances in which they found themselves?

Pulling on one of Renzo’s T-shirts, which came to halfway down her thighs, she crept beneath the duvet and waited for him to come to bed.

But he didn’t.

She tried to block the thoughts which were buzzing in her mind like a mosquito in a darkened room, but some thoughts just wouldn’t go away. Because apart from that very public kiss when he’d claimed her as his bride, he hadn’t come near her, had he? And something else occurred to her, something which perhaps she had been too arrogant to take into account. What if he no longer wanted her? If he no longer desired her as a man was supposed to desire a woman.

Tossing and turning in those fine cotton sheets, she watched the hand of the clock slowly moving. Soon her heart rate overtook the rhythmical ticking. Eleven o’clock. Then twelve. Shortly before one she gave in to the exhaustion which was threatening to crush her and Darcy never knew what time Renzo came to bed that night, because she didn’t hear him.

CHAPTER NINE

‘SO… WHAT DO you think? Does it meet with your approval?’ Renzo’s eyes didn’t leave Darcy’s profile as they stood in the grounds of the imposing manor house. A seagull heading for the nearby coast gave a squawk as it flew overhead and he could definitely detect the faint tang of salt in the air. A light breeze was ruffling his wife’s red curls, making them gleam brightly in the sunshine. How beautiful she looked, he thought—and how utterly unapproachable. And how ironic that the woman he’d spent more time with than anyone else should remain the most enigmatic woman of them all. ‘You haven’t changed your mind about living here now that it’s actually yours?’

Slowly she turned her head and returned his gaze, those glittering emerald eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t begin to understand.

‘Ours, you mean?’ she said. ‘Our first marital home.’

He shook his head. ‘No. Not mine. I’ve spoken with my lawyers and the deeds have been made over to you. This is yours, Darcy. Completely yours.’

There was a moment of silence before she frowned and blinked at him. ‘But I don’t understand. We talked about it in Rome and I thought we’d agreed that a house in England was going to be the best thing for us.’ She touched the ever-increasing girth of her belly. ‘All of us.’

Was she being deliberately naïve, he wondered—or just exceptionally clever? Did she know she had him twisted up in knots and he didn’t have a damned clue how to handle her? Because he was starting to realise that, despite his experience with women, he had no idea how to sustain a long-term relationship. He’d never had to try before. In the past he had always just walked away—usually because boredom had set in and he’d found the increasing demands tedious. But with Darcy he couldn’t do that. Furthermore, he didn’t want to. He wanted this baby so badly. It scared him just how badly. For a man who’d spent his life building things for other people—someone who considered himself urbane, sophisticated and cool—he hadn’t reckoned on the fierce and primitive pride he felt at having created the most precious thing of all.

Life.

But Darcy remained a mystery he couldn’t solve. She’d closed herself off to him since that night in Rome. She’d told him more about what he’d already known and the brutal facts had horrified him when he’d thought how tough her childhood must have been. He’d sat up for a long time that night after she’d rushed off to bed, drinking whisky until it had tasted stale in his mouth and gazing into space as he’d wondered how best to deal with the information. But he had dealt with it in the same way he dealt with anything emotional. He’d compartmentalised it. Filed it away, meaning to do something about it sometime but never getting round to it. She’d been asleep by the time he’d slid into bed beside her, her fecund body covered in one of his oversized T-shirts, sending out a silent signal to stay the hell away from her. He remembered waking up to a beautiful Roman morning with the air all clear and blue. They’d gone out for coffee and cornetti and he hadn’t said a word about her revelations and neither had she. She’d closed herself off from him again and he sensed that he could frighten her away if he didn’t let her take this thing at her own pace.

But it hadn’t worked.

Because now she looked at him so warily by day, while at night she still wore those infernal all-enveloping T-shirts and lay there quietly, holding her breath—as if daring him to come near. Had he handled it badly? If it had been any other woman he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was wet and horny—reaching for him eagerly, the way she used to.

But she was not any other woman. She was his wife. His pregnant wife. How could he possibly ravish her when she was both bulky and yet impossibly fragile? Her skin looked so delicate—the blue tracery of her veins visible beneath its porcelain fragility—as if to even breathe on her might leave some kind of mark. And against her tiny frame, the baby looked huge—as if what her body had achieved was defying both gravity and logic, something which continued to amaze him. He’d even taken to working solely from home these past weeks, cancelling a trip to New York and another to Paris, terrified she was going to go into labour early even though there were still three weeks to go.

‘Let’s get inside,’ he said abruptly. He unlocked their new front door and stood back to let her pass and their footsteps sounded loud in a house which was still largely empty, save for the few pieces of furniture which had already been delivered. But at least it wasn’t cold. Despite the bite of early spring, the estate agent must have put on the heating—knowing that today was their first visit as official owners. The door swung closed behind them and he realised that she was still looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

‘Why have you put the house in my name, Renzo? I don’t understand.’

‘Because you need to have some kind of insurance policy. Somewhere to call home if—’

‘If the marriage doesn’t work out?’

‘That’s right.’

She nodded as if she understood at last for her face had whitened, her eyes appearing darkly emerald against her pale skin.

‘But you said—’

‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted. ‘But I didn’t factor in that the situation might prove more difficult than I’d anticipated.’

‘You mean, my company?’

‘No, not your company,’ he negated impatiently, and then suddenly the words came bubbling out of nowhere, even though he hadn’t intended to say them. ‘I mean the fact that I want you so damned much and you don’t seem to want me any more. The fact that you’re always just out of reach.’

Shocked, Darcy stared at him. So she hadn’t been imagining it. It had been lust she’d seen in his eyes and sexual hunger which made his body grow tense whenever she walked in the room. So why hadn’t he touched her? Why did he keep coming to bed later and later while keeping their days ultrabusy by whisking her from property to property until at last she’d fallen in love with this East Sussex house which was only eight miles from the sea?

The truth was that he hadn’t come near her since that night in Rome, when she’d told him everything about her mother. She felt her stomach clench. Actually, not quite everything—and hadn’t she been thankful afterwards that she hadn’t blurted out the whole truth? Imagine his reaction if she’d told him that, when he was already repulsed by what he knew, even though he’d done his best to hide it. And it was funny how the distance between a couple could grow almost without you realising. They’d been wary in each other’s company. As the space between them had increased, she’d found the presence of her Italian husband almost…forbidding.

But if she had read it all wrong, then where did that leave her? If he hadn’t been making value judgments about her, then why was she being so passive—always waiting for Renzo to make the first move? Yes, he was an alpha man with an instinctive need to dominate but it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he was simply being cautious around the baby she carried in her belly. He’d never had a pregnant lover before. He had taught her so much—wasn’t this her chance to teach him something?

She walked over to him and, without warning, raised herself up on tiptoe to press her lips against his—feeling him jerk with surprise before sliding his arms around her waist to support her. Their tongues met as he instantly deepened the kiss but although Darcy could feel herself begin to melt, she forced herself to pull away.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not here. Not like this. Let’s go upstairs. I need to lie down.’

‘To bed?’

She took his hand and began to walk towards the stairs. ‘Why not? It just happens to be about the only piece of furniture we have.’

An old-fashioned boat bed had been delivered to the master bedroom, her only instruction to the removal men being that the thick plastic covering the mattress should be taken away and disposed of. The wooden-framed structure dominated an otherwise empty room and on its king-size surface lay the embroidered coverlet she’d found when she and Renzo had been rooting around in one of Rome’s antiques markets. She hadn’t asked for it to be placed there but now it seemed like a sign that this had been meant to happen.

‘Get undressed,’ she whispered as she pulled off her overcoat and dropped it to the ground.

His eyes were fixed on hers as he removed his jacket, his sweater and trousers. Soon their discarded clothes were mingled in a heap beside the bed and at last Darcy stood in front of him. She was naked and heavily pregnant and feeling more than a little awkward, yet the look of desire in his eyes was melting away any last trace of shyness.

‘I feel…bulky,’ she said.

‘Not bulky,’ he corrected, his voice husky. ‘Beautiful. Luscious and rounded—like the ripest of fruits about to fall from the tree.’

She shivered as he spoke and he took her into his arms.

‘You’re cold,’ he observed.

She shook her head, still reeling from his words and the way he’d looked at her as he said them. ‘No, not cold. Excited.’

‘Me, too.’ He gave a low laugh as he unfolded the coverlet and shook it out over the mattress.

‘It almost looks as if we’re planning on a picnic,’ she said, her voice suddenly betraying a hint of uncertainty.

‘That’s exactly what I’m planning. I’m going to feast on you, mia bella.’ But his face suddenly darkened as he pulled her into his arms and their bare flesh met for the first time in so long. ‘I’m out of my depth here, Darcy,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve never made love to a pregnant woman before and I’m scared I’m going to hurt you. Tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Just kiss me,’ she whispered as they sank down onto the mattress. ‘And we’ll make it up as we go along.’

He kissed her for a long time. Tiny, brushing kisses at first and then deeper ones. And for a while, there were hard kisses which felt almost angry—as if he was punishing her for having kept him away for so long. But his anger soon passed and the kisses became exploratory as he licked his way inside her mouth and they began to play a silent and erotic game of tongues.

And then he started to touch her as Darcy had ached for him to touch her night after lonely night, waiting in vain for him to come to bed. At first he simply skated the palms of his hands down over her, as if discovering all the different contours and curves which had grown since last time they’d been intimate. No area of skin escaped the light whisper of his fingertips and she could feel every nerve ending growing acutely sensitised. Slowly, he circled each breast with his thumb, focussing his attention on each peaking nipple and putting his mouth there to lick luxuriously until she was squirming with frustrated longing. She wanted him to hurry yet she wanted him to take all day. But the rhythmical movements of his hand relaxed her completely, so that she was more than ready for his leisurely exploration of her belly when it came.

Their gazes met as his fingers splayed over the tight drum, his black eyes filled with question. ‘This is okay?’ he breathed.

‘This is more than okay,’ she managed, her voice growing unsteady as he slipped his hand down beyond to the silky triangle of hair, fingering her honeyed flesh so that she gasped with pleasure and the scent of her sex filled the air.

She reached for him, her pleasure already so intense that she could barely think straight as she tangled her fingers through his thick black hair, before hungrily reacquainting herself with the hard planes of his body. His shoulders were so broad and powerful; his pecs iron-hard. She loved the smattering of hair which roughened the rocky torso. Her fingertips skated lightly over his chest, feeling the rock-like definition of his abs. She thought his skin felt like oiled silk and she traced a lingering path over the dip of his belly before her fingers curled around the hardness of his erection, but he shook a cautionary head and pulled her hand away.

‘It’s been too long,’ he said unevenly.

‘You’re telling me!’

‘And I need to do it to you right now before I go out of my mind—the only question is, how?’

In answer, Darcy turned onto her side, wiggling her bottom against his groin in blatant invitation. ‘Like this, I think.’

‘But I can’t see you.’

‘Doesn’t matter. And it never used to bother you. Go on.’ She wiggled again and he groaned and she could feel how big he was as his moist tip positioned enticingly against her wet heat. ‘You can feel me now and look at me later.’

He gave a low laugh and said something softly profound in Italian as he eased inside her. But the moan he gave was long and Darcy thought she’d never heard such an exultant sound before.

‘Okay?’ he bit out, holding himself perfectly still.

‘More than okay,’ she gasped.

‘I’m not hurting you?’

‘No, Renzo, but you’re frustrating the hell out of me.’

His laugh sounded edgy but he began to move. In slow motion, he stroked himself in and out of her, his palms cupping her heavy breasts, his lips on her neck—kissing her through the thick curtain of curls. Darcy closed her eyes as she gave into sensation, forgetting that this was the only time they ever seemed truly equal. Forgetting everything except for the pulse points of pleasure throbbing throughout her body and the inexorable building of her orgasm as Renzo made love to her. Insistent heat pushed towards her. She could feel it coming—as inevitable as a train hurtling along the track—and part of her wanted to keep it at bay, to revel in that sweet expectation for as long as possible. But Renzo was close, as well—she could sense that, too. She’d had him come inside her too many times not to realise when he was near the edge. So she let go. Let pleasure wash over her—wave after sweet wave of it—until his movements suddenly quickened. He thrust into her with a deeper sense of urgency until at last he quivered and jerked and she felt the burst of his seed flooding into her.

Afterwards he lay exactly where he was and so did she. His skin was joined to hers, his body, too. It felt warm and sticky and intimate. Darcy just wanted to savour the moment and her deep sense of contentment as she waited for his verdict on that deeply satisfying interlude. Still remembering the dreamy things he’d murmured when they’d started to make love, part of her anticipating just what his next words might be. But when they came, it felt as if someone had ripped through that lazy contentment like a knife ripping through delicate silk.

‘So… Was that my reward, I wonder, cara mia?’ he questioned softly.

She pulled away from him, aware of the sudden pounding of her heart and the general indignity of turning to face a man when any kind of action was proving laborious. Especially when you were completely naked beneath the gaze of a pair of eyes which looked suddenly distant. She told herself not to read unnecessary stuff into his words—not to always imagine the worst. He told you he wanted you and that he’s been lusting after you…so go with that.

‘I’m afraid I’m not with you,’ she said lightly.

‘No?’ He turned onto his back and yawned. ‘You mean that wasn’t your way of thanking me for buying you a home of your own? For finally getting the independence you must have craved for all these years?’

Darcy froze as the meaning of his words sank in and suddenly all that vulnerability which was never far from the surface began to rise in a dark unwanted tide. Groping down over the side of the bed, she managed to retrieve her overcoat and slung it over herself to cover her nakedness.

‘Let’s just get this straight.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘You think I had sex with you because you made me an overgenerous offer I hadn’t actually asked for?’

‘I don’t know, Darcy.’ His tone had changed. It rang out, iron-hard—like the sound of a hammer hitting against a nail. And when he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were icy. Like the black ice you sometimes saw when you were out on the roads in winter. Or didn’t see until it was too late. ‘I just don’t get it with you. Sometimes I think I know you and other times I think I don’t know you at all.’

‘But aren’t all relationships like that?’ she questioned, swallowing down her fear. ‘Didn’t some songwriter say that if our thoughts could be seen, they’d probably put our heads in a guillotine?’

His eyes were narrowed as they studied her. ‘And if I promised to grant you leniency, would you give me access to your thoughts right now?’

Darcy didn’t react. She could tell him the rest of her story—and maybe if it had been any other man than Renzo she would have done so. But he had already insulted her by thinking she’d had sex with him just because he’d bought her this house. To him, it all boiled down to a transaction and he didn’t really trust himself to believe anything different. He thought of everything in terms of barter between the sexes because he didn’t really like women, did he? He’d told her that a long time ago. He might want her but he didn’t trust her and even though she could try to gain that trust by confessing her biggest secret, surely it was too big a gamble?

‘I’m just wondering why you seem determined to wreck what chance we have of happiness,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘We have a lovely new home and a baby on the way. We’re both healthy and we fancy each other like crazy. We’ve just had amazing sex—can’t we just enjoy that?’

Black eyes seared into her for a long moment until eventually he nodded, his hand snaking around her waist and pulling her closer so that she could feel the powerful beat of his heart.

‘Okay,’ he said as he stroked her hair. ‘Let’s do that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just all very new to me and I don’t do trust very easily.’

Silently, she nodded, willing the guilt and the tears to go away. All she wanted was to live a decent life with her husband and child. She wanted what she’d never had—was that really too much to ask? She relaxed a little as his hand moved from her hair to her back, his fingertips skating a light path down her spine. Couldn’t she be the best kind of wife to him, to demonstrate her commitment through her actions rather than her words?

He leaned over her, black fire blazing as he bent his face close. ‘Are you tired?’

She shook her head. ‘Not a bit. Why?’

His thumb grazed the surface of her bottom lip and she could feel his body hardening against her as he gave a rueful smile. ‘Because I want you again,’ he said.

CHAPTER TEN

DARCY’S FIRST INKLING that something was wrong came on a Monday morning. At first she thought it was nothing—like looking up at the sky and thinking you’d imagined that first heavy drop of rain which heralded the storm.

Renzo was in London unveiling his design for the Tokyo art gallery at a press conference—having left the house at the crack of dawn. He’d asked if she’d wanted to accompany him but she’d opted to stay, and was in the garden pegging out washing when the call came from one of his assistants, asking if she was planning to be at home at lunchtime.

Darcy frowned. It struck her as a rather strange question. Even if she wasn’t home, Renzo knew she wouldn’t have strayed much further than the local village—or, at a pinch, the nearby seaside town of Brighton. All that stuff they said about pregnant women wanting to nest was completely true and she’d built a domestic idyll here while awaiting the birth of their baby. And hadn’t that nesting instinct made her feel as though life was good—or as good as it could be? Even if sometimes she felt guilt clench at her heart unexpectedly, knowing that her husband remained ignorant of her biggest, darkest secret. But why rock the boat by telling him? Why spoil something which was good by making him pity her and perhaps despise her?

Placing the palm of her hand over the tight drum of her belly, she considered his assistant’s question. ‘Yes, I’m going to be here at lunchtime. Why?’

‘Signor Sabatini just asked me to make sure.’

Darcy frowned. ‘Is something wrong? Is Renzo around—can I speak to him, please?’

The assistant’s voice was smooth but firm. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s in a meeting. He said to tell you he’ll be with you soon after noon.’

Darcy replaced the receiver, trying to lose the sudden feeling of apprehension which had crept over her, telling herself it was only because that fractured phone call felt a little like history repeating itself which had made her nervous. At least it hadn’t been the same assistant who had stonewalled her attempts to get through to Renzo to tell him she was pregnant. That assistant had suddenly been offered a higher position in a rival company, something which Darcy suspected Renzo had masterminded himself. He’d seemed to want to put the past behind them as much as she did. So stop imagining trouble where there isn’t any.

But it didn’t matter how much she tried to stay positive, she couldn’t seem to shake off the growing sense of dread which had taken root inside her. She went inside and put away the remaining clothes pegs—something her billionaire husband often teased her about. He told her that hanging out washing was suburban; she told him she didn’t care. She knew he wanted to employ a cleaner and a housekeeper, and to keep a driver on tap instead of driving herself—in the fairly ordinary family car she’d chosen, which wasn’t Renzo’s usual style at all. The private midwife who lived locally and could be called upon at any time had been her only concession to being married to a billionaire.

But she wanted to keep it real, because reality was her only anchor. Despite Renzo’s enormous power and wealth, she wanted theirs to be as normal a family as it was possible to be. And despite what she’d said when he’d railroaded her into the marriage, she badly wanted it to work. Not just because of their baby or because of their unhappy childhoods. She looked out the window, where her silk shirt was blowing wildly in the breeze. She wanted it to work because she had realised she loved him.

She swallowed.

She loved him.

It had dawned on her one morning when she’d woken to find him still sleeping beside her. In sleep he looked far less forbidding but no less beautiful. His shadowed features were softened; the sensual lips relaxed. Two dark arcs of eyelashes feathered onto his olive skin and his hair was ruffled from where she’d run her hungry fingers through it sometime during the night. She remembered the powerful feeling which had welled up inside her as the full force of her feelings had hit her and she wondered how she could have failed to recognise it before.

Of course she loved him. She’d been swept away by him from the moment she’d looked across a crowded nightclub and seen a man who had only had eyes for her. A once-in-a-lifetime man who’d made her feel a once-in-a-lifetime passion, despite the fact that he could be arrogant, tricky and, at times, downright difficult. And if fate—or rather pregnancy—had given her the opportunity to capitalise on those feelings and for passion to evolve into love, then she had to make the most of it. He might not feel the same way about her but she told herself that didn’t matter because she had more than enough love to go round. She planned to make herself indispensable—not just as the mother of his child, but as his partner. To concentrate on friendship, respect and passion and reassure herself that maybe it could be enough. And if sometimes she found herself yearning for something more—well, maybe she needed to learn to appreciate what she had and stop chasing fantasy.

She spent the next hour crushing basil leaves and mashing garlic, trying to perfect a pesto sauce as good as the one they’d eaten in Rome on the last evening of their honeymoon. Then she picked a handful of daffodils and put them in a vase and had just sat down with a cup of tea to admire their yellow frilliness, when she heard the front door slam.

‘I’m in here!’ she called. She looked up to see Renzo framed in the doorway, her smile and words of welcome dying on her lips when she saw the darkness on his face. She put the cup down with a suddenly shaking hand. ‘Is something wrong?’

He didn’t answer and that only increased her fear. His hands were white-knuckled and a pulse was beating fast at his temple, just below a wayward strand of jet-black hair. She could sense an almost palpable tension about him—as if he was only just clinging on to his temper by a shred.

‘Renzo! What’s wrong?’

He fixed her with a gaze which was cold and hard. ‘You tell me,’ he said.

‘Renzo, you’re scaring me now. What is it? I don’t understand.’

‘Neither did I.’ He gave a harsh and bitter laugh. ‘But suddenly I do.’

From his pocket he took out an envelope and slapped it onto the table. It was creased—as if somebody had crushed it in the palm of their hand and then changed their mind and flattened it out again. On the cheap paper Renzo’s name had been printed—and whoever had written it had spelt his surname wrong, she noted automatically.

His lip curved. ‘It’s a letter from your friend.’

‘Which friend?’

‘Shouldn’t take you long to work that one out, Darcy. I mean, it isn’t like you have a lot of friends, is it?’ His mouth twisted. ‘I never really understood why before. But suddenly I do.’

She knew then. She’d seen the look often enough in the past not to be able to recognise it. She could feel the stab of pain to her heart and the sickening certainty that her flirtation with a normal life was over.

‘What does it say?’

‘What do you think it says?’

‘I’d like to hear it.’ Was she hoping for some sort of reprieve? For someone to be writing to tell him that she’d once told a policewoman a lie—or that she’d missed school for a whole three months while her mother kept her at home? She licked her lips and looked at him. ‘Please.’

With another contemptuous twist of his lips he pulled out the lined paper and began to read from it, though something told her he already knew the words by heart.

‘“Did you know that Pammie Denton was a whore? Biggest hooker in all of Manchester. Ask your wife about her mam.”’

He put the note down. ‘It’s pointless asking if you recognise the writing, since it’s printed in crude capitals, but I imagine Drake Bradley must be the perpetrator and that this is the beginning of some clumsy attempt at blackmail. Don’t you agree?’ he added coolly.

Her normal reaction would have been to shut right down and say she didn’t want to talk about it because that had been the only way she’d been able to cope with the shame in the past, but this was different. Renzo was her husband. He was the father of her unborn baby. She couldn’t just brush all the dirty facts under the carpet and hope they would go away.

And maybe it was time to stop running from the truth. To have the courage to be the person she was today, rather than the person forged from the sins of yesterday. Her heart pounded and her mouth grew suddenly dry. To have the courage to tell him what maybe she should have told him a long time ago.

‘I’d like to explain,’ she said, drawing in a deep breath.

He gave her another unfathomable look as he opened up the refrigerator and took out a beer and Darcy blinked at him in consternation because cool and controlled Renzo Sabatini never drank during the day.

‘Feel free,’ he said, flipping the lid and pouring it into a glass. But he left the drink untouched, putting it down on the table and leaning against the window sill as he fixed her with that same cold and flinty stare. ‘Explain away.’

In a way it would have been easier if he’d been angry. If he’d been hurling accusations at her she could have met those accusations head-on. She could have countered his rage with, not exactly reason—but surely some kind of heartfelt appeal, asking him to put himself in her situation. But this wasn’t easy. Not when he was looking at her like that. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a piece of stone.

‘My mother was a prostitute.’

‘I think we’ve already established that fact and I think I know how prostitution works,’ he said. ‘So what exactly was it you wanted to explain, Darcy?’

It was worse than she’d thought because there was anger, only it was quiet and it was brooding and it was somehow terrifying. Because this was a man she scarcely recognised. It was as if his body had become encased in a thick layer of frost. As if liquid ice were running through his veins instead of blood.

She looked at him, wanting to convey a sense of what it had been like, trying to cling on to the certainty that there was something between her and Renzo—something which was worth fighting for. There had to be. He might take his parental responsibilities very seriously but deep down she knew he wouldn’t have married her or contemplated staying with her unless they had something in common. ‘She was an addict. Well, you know that bit. Only… Well, drugs are expensive—’

‘And a woman can always sell her body?’ he interposed acidly.

She nodded, knowing this time there was no going back. That she needed to tell him the truth. The cruel, unedited version she’d never even been able to admit to herself before, let alone somebody else.

‘She can,’ she said. ‘Until her looks start to go—and that tends to happen sooner rather than later where addicts are concerned. My mother had once been beautiful but her looks deserted her pretty quickly. Her…her hair fell out and then…’

She flushed with shame as she remembered the kids at school taunting her and she remembered that she’d once thought she would never tell him this bit, but she knew she had to. Because why was she trying to protect her mother’s memory, when she had uncaringly gone out and wrecked as many lives as it took to get that hypodermic syringe plunging into her arm?

‘Then her teeth,’ she whispered, staring down at the fingers which were knotted together in her lap. ‘And that was the beginning of the end, because she kept losing her dentures whenever she got stoned. She was still able to get clients—only the standard of client went rapidly downhill, as I’m sure you can imagine, and so did the amount of money she was able to charge.’

And that had been when it had got really scary. When she hadn’t wanted to go home from school at night—even though she was so stressed that learning had become impossible. She’d never know what she’d find when she got there—what kind of lowlife would be leering at her mother, but, worse, leering at her. That had been where her mistrust of men had started and if that kindly social worker hadn’t stepped in, she didn’t know what would have happened. To most people, going back to the children’s home would have seemed like the end of the road—but to her it had felt like salvation.

‘It sounds a nightmare,’ he said flatly.

Sensing a sea change in his mood, Darcy looked up but the hope in her heart withered immediately when she saw that his stony expression was unchanged. ‘It was. I just want you to understand—’

‘No,’ he said suddenly, cutting across her words. ‘I’m not interested in understanding, Darcy. Not any more. I want you to know that something was destroyed when I received this letter.’

‘I realise it was shocking—’

He shook his head. ‘No. You’re missing the point. I’m not talking about shocking. Human behaviour has always been shocking. I’m talking about trust.’

‘T-trust?’

‘Yes. I can see the bewilderment on your face. Is that word such an alien concept to you?’ His mouth twisted. ‘I guess it must be. Because I asked you, didn’t I, Darcy? I asked you not once, but twice, whether you were keeping anything else from me. I thought we were supposed to be embracing a new openness—an honest environment in which to bring up our child, not one which was tainted by lies.’

She licked her lips. ‘But surely you can understand why I didn’t tell you?’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I can’t. I knew about your mother’s addiction. Did you expect me to judge you when I found out how she paid for that addiction?’

‘Yes,’ she said helplessly. ‘Of course I did. Because I’ve been judged by every person who ever knew about it. Being the daughter of Manchester’s biggest hooker tends to saddle you with a certain reputation. People used to sneer at me. I could hear them laughing behind my back. And even though my social worker said it was because I was attractive and people would try to bring me down by exploiting my vulnerability, that didn’t stop the hurt. It’s why I left and came to London. It’s why I never was intimate with a man before I met you.’

‘Why you never accepted the gifts I tried to give you,’ he said slowly.

‘Yes!’ she answered, desperately searching for a chink in the dark armour which made him look so impenetrable. Searching for the light of understanding in his eyes which might give her hope.

But there was none.

‘You do realise, Darcy,’ he questioned, ‘that I can’t live with secrets?’

‘But there aren’t any—not any more. Now you know everything about me.’ Her heart was crashing wildly against her ribcage as she pleaded her case like a prisoner in the dock. ‘And I need never lie to you again.’

He shook his head. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ he said and his voice sounded tired. ‘You knew that my childhood was tainted with secrets and lies. I told you a long time ago that I had trust issues and I meant it. How the hell can I ever trust you again? The truth is that I can’t.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘And the even bigger truth is that I don’t even want to.’

She was about to accuse him back. To tell him that he’d never trusted her in the first place. Look how he’d reacted when he’d discovered she was pregnant—showering her with suspicious questions when she’d lain in her hospital bed. He’d even thought she’d had wild sex with him just because he’d bought her a house. But her accusations remained unspoken because what was the point? No matter what she did or said, something in him had died—she could tell that from the emptiness in his eyes when he looked at her.

She nodded. ‘So what do you want to do?’

He lifted the glass of beer now and drank it down in a draught, before slowly putting the empty glass back down on the table. ‘I’m going back to London,’ he said and Darcy could hear the bitterness in his tone. ‘Because I can’t bear to be around you right now.’

‘Renzo—’

‘No, please. Let’s keep this dignified, shall we? Don’t let’s either of us say anything we might later regret, because we’re still going to have to co-parent. We’ll obviously need to come to some sort of formal agreement about that but it isn’t something we need to discuss right now. I think you know me well enough to know that I won’t be unreasonable.’

She nearly broke then—and what made it worse was the sudden crack in his voice as he said those words. As if he was hurting as much as she was. But he wasn’t, was he? He couldn’t be. Because nobody could possibly share this terrible pain which was searing through her heart and making it feel as if it had exploded into a million little pieces.

‘You have the services of the midwife I’ve employed,’ he continued. ‘I spoke to her from the car on the way here and explained the circumstances and she has offered to move into the annex if that would make you feel more secure.’

‘No, it would not make me feel more secure!’ Darcy burst out. ‘I don’t want a total stranger living here with me.’

He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. ‘No. I can’t imagine you do. Living with a stranger isn’t something I’d particularly recommend.’

And then he turned his back on her and walked out, closing the door with a click behind him. Darcy struggled to her feet to watch him walking down the garden path, past the washing line. The wind was blowing the sleeves of her shirt so that they flapped towards him, as if they were trying to pull him back, and how she wished they could. She considered rushing down the path after him, cumbersome in her late pregnancy, grabbing the sleeve of his handmade Italian suit and begging him to give her another chance. To stay.

But dignity was the one thing she had—maybe the only thing she had left.

So she watched him go. Watched him get into the back of the luxury car with the sunlight glinting off dark hair as blue-black as a raven’s wing. His jaw set, he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, not turning round as the powerful vehicle pulled away. There was no last, lingering look. No opportunity for her eyes to silently beseech him to stay.

The only thing she saw was his forbidding profile as Renzo Sabatini drove out of her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER HE’D GONE, a wave of desolation swept over Darcy—a desolation so bleak that it felt as if she were standing on the seashore in the depths of winter, being buffeted by the lashing sea. As his car disappeared from view she stumbled away from the window, trying to keep her wits about her, telling herself that her baby was her primary focus—her only focus—and she needed to protect the innocent life inside her. Briefly she closed her eyes as she thought about what Renzo had just found out—the shameful truth about her mother being a common prostitute. Would she be forced to tell her son about the kind of woman his grandmother had been? Yet surely if there was enough love and trust between her and her little boy, then anything was possible.

She swallowed because nothing seemed certain—not any more. She could understand her husband’s anger but it had been impossible to penetrate. It had been a controlled reaction which shouldn’t have surprised her—but another aspect of it had and that was what was confusing her. Because he hadn’t threatened her with the full force of his wealth and power after making his sordid discovery, had he? Wouldn’t another man—a more ruthless man—have pressured her with exposure if she didn’t relinquish her role as primary carer to their baby?

Brushing away the sweat which was beading her brow, she knew she ought to sit down but she couldn’t stop pacing the room as her jumbled thoughts tried to assemble themselves into something approaching clarity. His voice had been bitter when he’d spoken to her—almost as if he’d been hurt. But Renzo didn’t do hurt, did he? Just as he didn’t do emotion.

Surely he must recognise why she’d kept her terrible secret to herself—why the shame of the past had left her unable to trust anyone, just as he had been unable to trust anyone.

But Renzo had trusted her, hadn’t he?

The thought hit her hard.

How many times had he trusted her?

He’d trusted her to take the pill and, even though that method of birth control had failed, he’d trusted her enough to believe her explanation.

He’d trusted her enough to confide in her when he first took her out to Tuscany and told her things he need never have said. And then, when they’d got back to England, he’d trusted her enough to give her the key to his apartment. He might not have wooed her with words but words were cheap, weren’t they? Anyone could say stuff to please a woman and not mean it. But Renzo’s actions had demonstrated trust and regard and that was pretty amazing. It might not have been love but it came a pretty close second. And she had blown it.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the yellow blur of daffodils in the vase. She had blown it by refusing to trust him—by not lowering the defences she’d erected all those years ago, when the police had asked her questions and she’d been too frightened to tell the truth, for fear her mother would go to jail. Renzo hadn’t judged her because her mother had been an addict and he wouldn’t have judged her because she’d been a prostitute—what had made him turn away with that tight-lipped face was the fact that she’d lied to him. Again and again, she’d kept her secrets to herself.

So what was she going to do about it? She looked at the bright blue sky outside, which seemed to mock her. Stay here with the midwife on standby, while she waited for the baby to arrive? Day following day with remorse and regret and the feeling that she’d just thrown away the best thing which had ever happened to her? Or have the courage to go to Renzo. Not to plead or beg but to put her feelings on the line and tell him what she should have told him a long time ago. It might be too late for him to take her back, but surely he could find it in his heart to forgive her?

Picking up the car keys, she went to the garage and manoeuvred the car out on the lane, sucking in lots of deep and calming breaths just as they’d taught her in the prenatal relaxation classes. Because she had a very precious passenger on board and there was no way she should attempt to drive to London if she was going to drive badly.

She let out the clutch and pulled away, thinking that she should have been scared but she’d never felt so strong or so focussed. She kept her mind fixed firmly on the traffic as the country roads gave way to the city and she entered the busy streets of London, glad she was able to follow the robotic instructions of the satnav. But her hands were shaking as eventually she drew up outside the towering skyscraper headquarters of Sabatini International. She left the car by the kerb and walked into the foyer, where a security guard bustled up importantly, barring her way.

‘I’m afraid you can’t park there, miss.’

‘Oh, yes, I can. And it’s Mrs, actually—or Signora, if you prefer. My husband owns this building. So if you wouldn’t mind?’ Giving a tight smile at his goggle-eyed expression, she handed him her car keys. ‘Doing something with my car? I’d hate Renzo to get a ticket.’

She was aware of people staring at her as she headed for the penthouse lift but maybe that wasn’t surprising. Among the cool and geeky workers milling around, she guessed a heavily pregnant woman with untidy hair would be a bit of a talking point. The elevator zoomed her straight up to the thirty-second floor, where one of Renzo’s assistants must have been forewarned because she stood directly in Darcy’s path, her fixed smile not quite meeting her eyes.

‘Mrs Sabatini.’ She inclined her head. ‘I can’t let you disturb him. I’m afraid your husband is tied up right now.’

Suddenly tempted by a wild impulse to ask whether Renzo had suddenly been converted to the pleasures of bondage, Darcy looked at her and nodded, but she didn’t feel anger or irritation. The woman was only doing her job, after all. In the past she might have crumbled—gone scuttling back downstairs with a request that Renzo contact her when he had a free moment. But that was then and this was now. She’d overcome so much in her life. Seen stuff no child should ever see. She’d come through the other side of all that and yet…

Yet she had still let it define her, hadn’t she? Instead of shutting the door on the past and walking away from it, she had let it influence her life.

Well, not any more.

‘Watch me,’ Darcy said as she walked across the carpeted office towards Renzo’s office, ignoring the woman’s raised voice of protest.

She pushed open the door to see Renzo seated at the top of a long boardroom table with six other people listening to what he was saying, but his words died away the moment he glanced up and saw her. Comically, every head swivelled in her direction but Darcy didn’t pay them any attention; she was too busy gazing into the eyes of her husband and finding nothing in their ebony depths but ice. But she was going to be strong. As strong as she knew she could be.

‘Darcy,’ he said, his eyes narrowing.

‘I know this isn’t a convenient time,’ she said, pre-empting his dismissal and drawing herself up as tall as she could. ‘But I really do need to speak to you, Renzo. So if you people wouldn’t mind giving us five, we’ll make sure this meeting is rescheduled.’

Almost as if they were being controlled by some unseen puppet master, six heads turned to Renzo for affirmation.

He shrugged. ‘You heard what the lady said.’

Darcy’s heart was pounding as they all trooped out, shooting her curious looks on their way, but Renzo still hadn’t moved. His expression remained completely impassive and only the sudden movement of his fingers as he slammed his pen onto the table gave any indication that he might be angry at her interruption.

‘So what are you doing here?’ he questioned coolly. ‘I thought we’d said everything there is to say.’

She shook her head. ‘But we haven’t. Or rather, I haven’t. You did a lot of talking earlier only I was too shocked and upset to answer.’

‘Don’t bother,’ he said, sounding almost…bored. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. You want to hold on to your precious secrets, Darcy? Then go right ahead! Or maybe find a man you trust enough to tell the truth.’

She let out a shuddered breath, struggling to get out the words she knew she needed to say. ‘I trust you, Renzo. It’s taken me this long to dare admit it, but I do. I trust you enough to tell you that I’ve been scared…and I’ve been stupid. You see, I couldn’t believe someone as good as you could ever be part of my life and I thought…’ Her voice stumbled but somehow she kept the tears at bay. ‘I thought the only way I could hold on to it was to be the person I thought you’d want me to be. I was terrified that if you knew who I really was, that you would send me away—baby or no baby—’

‘You can’t—’

‘No,’ she said fiercely, and now the tears had started and she scrubbed them away furiously with the back of her fist. ‘Let me finish. I should have celebrated my freedom from the kind of life I’d grown up in. I should have rejoiced that I had found a man who was prepared to care for me, and to care for our baby. I should have realised that it was a pretty big deal for you to tell me stuff about your past and give me a key to your apartment. I should have looked for the meaning behind those gestures instead of being too blind and too scared to dare. And rather than keeping my feelings locked away, I should have told you the biggest secret of all.’

He froze. ‘Not another one?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘The final one—and I’m about to let you in on it. Not because I want something in return or because I’m expecting something back, but because you need to know.’ Her voice trembled but she didn’t care. This was her chance to put something right but it was also the truth—shining, bold and very certain, no matter the consequences. ‘I love you, Renzo. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, when the thunderbolt hit me, too. Because that feeling never went away. It just grew and grew. When we made love that first time, it was so powerful—it blew me away. I’ve never wanted to be intimate with a man before you and I know that, if you don’t want me, I won’t ever find somebody who makes me feel the way you do.’

There was a silence when all Darcy could hear was the fierce pounding of her heart and she could hardly bear to look at him for fear that she might read rejection in his face. But she had to look at him. If she had learned anything it was that she had to face up to the truth, no matter how painful that might be.

‘How did you get here?’ he demanded.

She blinked at him in confusion. ‘I…drove.’

He nodded. ‘You parked your car in the middle of the city when you’ve only recently passed your test?’

‘I gave the keys to the security guard.’ She licked her lips. ‘I told him I was your wife.’

‘So you thought you’d just drive up here and burst into my building and disrupt my meeting with a few pretty words and make it all better?’

‘I did…’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I did what I thought was best.’

‘Best for you, you mean?’

‘Renzo—’

‘No!’ he interrupted savagely and now all the coldness had gone—to be replaced with a flickering fire and fury which burned in the depths of his black eyes. ‘I don’t want this. Capisci? I meant what I said, Darcy. I don’t want to live this way, wondering what the hell I’m going to find out about you next. Never knowing what you’re hiding from me, what secrets you’re concealing behind those witchy green eyes.’

She searched his face for some kind of softening but there was none. And who could blame him? She’d known about his trust issues and she’d tested those issues to the limit. Broken them beyond repair so that they lay in shattered ruins between them. The hope which had been building inside her withered and died. Her lips pressed in on themselves but she would not cry. She would not cry.

She nodded. ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said, is there? I’ll leave you so that you can get on with your meeting. You’re right. I should have rung ahead beforehand, but I was afraid you wouldn’t see me. I guess I would have been right.’ She swallowed. ‘Still, I’m sure we can work something out. The best and most amicable deal for our baby. I’m sure we both want that.’ There was a pause as she took one long last look at him, drinking in the carved olive features, the sensual lips and the gleam of his black eyes. ‘Goodbye, Renzo. Take…take good care of yourself.’

And then, with her head held very high, she walked out of his office.

Renzo stared at her retreating form, his mind spinning, aware of the door closing before opening again and his assistant rushing in.

‘I’m sorry about that, Renzo—’

But he waved an impatient hand of dismissal until the woman left him alone again. He paced the floor space of his vast office, trying to concentrate on his latest project, but all he could think about was the luminous light of Darcy’s green eyes and the brimming suggestion of unshed tears. And suddenly he found himself imagining what her life must have been like. How unbearable it must have been. All the sordid things she must have witnessed—and yet she had come through it all, hadn’t she? He thought how she’d overcome her humble circumstances and what she had achieved. Not in some majorly high-powered capacity—she’d ended up waitressing rather than sitting on the board of some big company. But she’d done it with integrity. She’d financed her studies and read lots of novels while working two jobs—yet even when she’d been poured into that tight satin cocktail dress she had demonstrated a fierce kind of pride and independence. She’d never wanted to take a single thing from him, had she? She’d refused much more than she’d accepted and it hadn’t been an act, had it? It had been genuine. From the heart. A big heart, which she’d been scared to expose for fear that she’d be knocked back, just as she must have been knocked back so many times before.

And he had done that to her. Knocked her back and let her go, right after she’d fiercely declared her love for him.

Her love for him.

He was prepared to give up that, along with her beauty and her energy, and for what?

For what?

A cold dread iced his skin as swiftly he left his office, passing his assistant’s desk without saying a word as he urgently punched the button of the elevator. But the journey down to the basement seemed to take for ever, and Renzo’s fist clenched as he glanced at his watch, because surely she would have left by now.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus in the gloomy light of the subterranean car park but he couldn’t see her. Only now it wasn’t his fist which clenched but his heart—a tight spear of pain which made him feel momentarily winded. What if she’d driven off after his callous rejection and was negotiating the busy roads to Brighton as she made her way back towards an empty house?

Pain and guilt washed over him as his eyes continued to scan the rows of cars and hope withered away inside him. And then he saw her on the other side of the car park in the ridiculously modest vehicle she’d insisted she wanted, in that stubborn way which often infuriated him but more often made his blood sing. He weaved his way through the cars, seeing her white face looking up at him as he placed the palm of his hand against the glass of the windscreen.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed, but she shook her head.

‘Let me in,’ he said, but she shook her head again and began putting the key in the ignition with shaking fingers.

He didn’t move, but placed his face closer to the window, barely noticing that someone from the IT department had just got out of the lift and was staring at him in open-mouthed disbelief. ‘Open the door,’ he said loudly. ‘Or I’ll rip the damned thing off its hinges.’

She must have believed him because the lock clicked and he opened the door and sat in the passenger seat before she could change her mind. ‘Darcy,’ he said.

‘Whatever it is you want to say,’ she declared fiercely, ‘I don’t want to hear it. Not right now.’

She’d been crying. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed and he realised that he’d never seen her cry—not once—she, who probably had more reason to cry than any other woman he’d known.

He wanted to take her in his arms. To feel her warmth and her connection. To kiss away those drying tears as their flesh melted against each other as it had done so many times in the past. But touching was cheating—it was avoiding the main issue and he needed to address that. To face up to what else was wrong. Not in her, but in him. Because how could she have ever trusted him completely when he kept so much of himself locked away?

‘Just hear me out,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘And let me tell you what I should have told you a long time ago. Which is that you’ve transformed my life in every which way. You’ve made me feel stuff I never thought I’d feel. Stuff I didn’t want to feel, because I was scared of what it might do to me, because I’d seen hurt and I’d seen pain in relationships and I didn’t want any part of that. Only I’ve just realised…’ He drew in a deep breath and maybe she thought he wasn’t going to continue, because her eyes had narrowed.

‘Realised what?’ she questioned cautiously.

‘That the worst pain of all is the pain of not having you in my life. When you walked out of my office just now I got a glimpse of just what that could be like—and it felt like the sun had been blotted from the sky.’

‘Very poetic,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Maybe your next girlfriend will hear it before it’s too late.’

She wasn’t budging an inch but he respected her for that, too. If it had been anyone else he wouldn’t have stayed or persisted or cared. But he was fighting for something here. Something he’d never really thought about in concrete terms before.

His future.

‘And there’s something else you need to know,’ he said softly. ‘And before you look at me in that stubborn way, just listen. All those things I did for you, things I’ve never done for anyone else—why do you think they happened? Because those thunderbolt feelings never left me either, no matter how much I sometimes wished they would. Because I wanted our baby and I wanted you. I like being with you. Being married to you. Waking up to you each morning and kissing you to sleep every night. And I love you,’ he finished simply. ‘I love you so much, Darcy. Choose what you do or don’t believe, but please believe that.’

As she listened to his low declaration of love, Darcy started to cry. At first it was the trickle of a solitary tear which streaked down her cheek and ended up in a salty drip at the corner of her mouth. She licked it away but then more came, until suddenly they were streaming her face but the crazy thing was that she didn’t care.

In the close confines of the car she stared at him through blurry vision and as that vision cleared the dark beauty of his face no longer seemed shuttered. It seemed open and alight with a look she’d always longed to see there, but never thought she would. It was shining from his eyes as a lighthouse shone out to all the nearby ships on the darkest of nights. ‘Yes, I believe you,’ she whispered. ‘And now you need to hold me very tightly—just to convince me I’m not dreaming.’

With a soft and exultant laugh Renzo pulled her into his arms, smoothing away the tangle of curls before bending his head to kiss away the tears which had made her cheeks so wet. She clung to him as their mouths groped blindly together and kissed as they’d never really kissed before. It was passionate and it was emotional—but it was superseded by a feeling so powerful that Darcy’s heart felt as if it were going to spill over with joy, until she suddenly jerked away—tossing her head back like a startled horse.

‘Oh, I love you, my beautiful little firecracker,’ he murmured as she dug her fingers into his arms.

‘The feeling is mutual,’ she said urgently. ‘Only we have to get out of here.’

He frowned. ‘You want to go back to Sussex?’

She flinched and closed her eyes as another fierce contraction gripped her and she shook her head. ‘I don’t think we’re going to make it as far as Sussex. I know it’s another two weeks away, but I think I’m going into labour.’

It was a quick and easy birth—well, that was what the cooing midwives told her, though Darcy would never have described such a seismic experience as easy. But she had Renzo beside her every step along the way. Renzo holding her hand and mopping her brow and whispering things to her in Italian which—in her more lucid moments—she knew she shouldn’t understand, but somehow she did. Because the words of love were universal. People could say them and not mean them. But they could also say them in a foreign language and you knew—you just knew—what they meant and that they were true.

It was an emotional moment when they put Luca Lorenzo Sabatini to her breast and he began to suckle eagerly, gazing up at her with black eyes so like his daddy’s. And when the midwives and the doctor had all left them, she glanced up into Renzo’s face and saw that his own eyes were unusually bright. She lifted her hand to the dark shadow of growth at his unshaven jaw and he met her wondering gaze with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. Was he crying?

‘Scusi,’ he murmured, bending down to drop a kiss on his son’s downy black head before briefly brushing his lips over Darcy’s. ‘I’m not going to be a lot of use to you, am I—if I start letting emotion get the better of me?’

And Darcy smiled as she shook her head. ‘Bring it on,’ she said softly. ‘I like seeing my strong and powerful man reduced to putty by the sight of his newborn baby.’

‘It seems as if my son has the same power over me as his mother,’ Renzo responded drily. He smoothed back her wild red curls. ‘Now. Do you want me to leave and let you get some rest?’

‘No way,’ she said firmly, shifting across to make space for him, her heart thudding as he manoeuvred his powerful frame onto the narrow hospital bed. And Darcy felt as if she’d never known such joy as when Renzo put his arm around her and hugged her and Luca close. As if she’d spent her life walking along a path—much of the time in darkness—only to emerge into a place full of beautiful light.

‘It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but there’s room on it for the three of us. And I want you beside me, Renzo. Here with me and here with Luca.’ And that was when her voice cracked with the emotion which had been building up inside her since he’d told her he loved her. ‘In fact, we’re never going to let you go.’

EPILOGUE

KICKING OFF HER shoes and flopping onto the sofa with a grateful sigh, Darcy frowned as Renzo handed her a slim leather box. ‘What’s this?’ she questioned.

He raised his brows. ‘Isn’t the whole point of presents that they’re supposed to be a surprise?’

‘But it isn’t my birthday.’

‘No,’ he said steadily. ‘But it’s Luca’s.’

‘Yes.’ The box momentarily forgotten, Darcy looked into her husband’s ebony eyes and beamed. Hard to believe that their beautiful son had just celebrated his first birthday. A year during which he’d captivated everyone around him with his bright and inquisitive nature, which at times showed more than a glimpse of his mother’s natural stubbornness.

Today, with streamers and balloons and a bit too much cake, they’d held a party for all his little friends in Sussex—while the mothers had each sipped a glass of pink champagne. Confident in her husband’s love, and freed from the shame of the past, Darcy had started to get to know people—both here in Sussex and in their London house, as well as the beautiful Tuscan villa where they spent as many holidays as they could. Invitations had started to arrive as, for the first time in her life, she’d begun to make friends. Real friends—though her best friend was and always would be her husband. She looked at him now with bemusement.

‘Open it,’ he said softly.

She unclipped the clasp and stared down at the necklace. A triple row of square-cut emeralds gleamed greenly against the dark velvet and there was a moment of confusion before she lifted her eyes to his. She remembered how, just after Luca’s birth, he’d gone to see Drake Bradley and persuaded the blackmailer to tell him where he’d pawned the diamond necklace. He’d got Drake’s confession on tape of course and, with the threat of prosecution and prison very real, Renzo had surprised everyone by refusing to turn him in to the police. Instead, he’d given Drake a chance—offering him a job working on the site clearance of one of his new projects in England. Employment Drake had eagerly accepted—possibly his first ever legitimate job and one which, against all the odds, he excelled at. For ever after, he treated Renzo with the dedication and loyalty a badly beaten dog might display towards the man who had rescued him.

Keep your friends close… Renzo had whispered to her on the night when the diamond necklace was back in his possession, after she’d finished remonstrating with him for putting himself in possible danger. But his expression had been rueful as she had held the dazzling diamond neckpiece as if it were an unexploded bomb.

‘I guess you wouldn’t get a lot of pleasure out of wearing this now?’

Darcy had shaken her head. ‘Nope. Too much bad history. And I’m no big fan of diamonds, you know that.’

The next day Renzo had returned the piece to the charity, telling them to auction it again. And he hadn’t mentioned jewellery since.

Until now.

‘Renzo,’ Darcy whispered, her gaze dazzled by the vivid green fire of the emeralds. ‘This is too much.’

‘No,’ he said fiercely. ‘It isn’t. Not nearly enough. If I bought up the contents of every jewellery shop in the world, it still wouldn’t be enough. Because I love you, Darcy. I love what you’ve given and shown me. How you’ve made me the man I am today, and I like that man much better than the one I was before.’ His voice dipped, his gaze dark as the night as it blazed over her. ‘And didn’t I always say you should have emeralds to match your eyes?’

Very wet eyes now, she thought, but she nodded as he kissed away her tears. And the jewels were suddenly forgotten because, when it boiled down to it, they were just pretty pieces of stone. The most precious thing Darcy had was her love—for her son and for her husband. And the chance to live her life without shame and without secrets.

‘Come here, mia caro,’ she whispered, practising her ever-increasing Italian vocabulary as she pulled him down onto the sofa next to her.

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I just want to show you…’ she smiled as her fingertip stroked his cheek until she reached the outline of his sensual mouth, which softened as she edged her own lips towards it ‘…how very much I love you.’

Engaged for Her Enemy’s Heir

Kate Hewitt

Surrendering to the Italian billionaire

When ruthless Rafael Vitali learns the woman in his bed is the daughter of his sworn enemy, he can’t get her out of his penthouse quick enough. But when Allegra reveals she’s pregnant, Rafael seizes the opportunity to assert his control. He insists Allegra move to Sicily…as his wife!

Allegra’s night of abandon with Rafael shattered the life she once knew. His claim over her body, and their unborn child, is undeniable, but giving him a claim over her fragile heart is beyond foolish—yet the temptation he poses is wildly, wickedly irresistible…

To my lovely editor, Victoria.

Thank you for all your help with this one!

CHAPTER ONE

IT SEEMED AS if a funeral was just a chance for people to get drunk. Not that Allegra Wells had personal experience of such a thing. She’d stuck to sparkling water all evening and now stood on the sidelines of the opulent hotel ballroom in Rome where her father’s wake was being held and watched people booze it up. She could have felt bitter, or at least cynical, but all she could dredge up was a bone-aching, heart-deep weariness.

It shouldn’t be this way.

Fifteen years ago it wouldn’t have been.

She took a slug of water, half wishing it was alcohol that would burn its way down to her belly and make her finally feel something. Melt the ice she’d encased herself in for so long, so that numbness had become familiar, comforting. She didn’t even notice it most of the time, content with her life back in New York, small as it was. It was only now, surrounded by strangers and with her father dead, that she felt painfully conscious of her isolation in the world she’d always viewed at a safe distance. The father who had turned his back on her without a thought.

Her father’s second wife and stepdaughter Allegra knew, at least by sight. She’d never met them but she’d seen photos when, in moments of emotional weakness, she’d done an Internet search on her father. Alberto Mancini, CEO of Mancini Technologies. He was in the online tabloids often enough, because his second wife was young and socially ambitious—at least she seemed to be, from everything Allegra had seen and read online.

Her behaviour at the funeral, wearing black lace and dabbing her eyes with artful elegance, didn’t make Allegra think otherwise. She hadn’t spared Allegra so much as a glance, but then why would she? No one knew who Allegra was; she’d only known about the funeral because her father’s lawyer had contacted her.

Around her people swirled and chatted, caught up in their own intricate dance of social niceties. Allegra wondered why she stayed. What she was hoping to find here? What did she think she could gain? Her father was dead, but he’d been dead to her for fifteen years, or at least she’d been dead to him. No messages, no letters or texts or calls in all that time. Nothing, and that was what she grieved for now, not the man himself.

The father she’d lost a long time ago, whose death now made her remember and ache for all she’d missed out on over the years. Was that why she’d come? To find some sort of closure? To make sense of all the pain?

Allegra’s mother had been furious that she’d been attending, had seen it as a deep and personal betrayal. Just remembering Jennifer Wells’s icy silence made Allegra’s stomach cramp. Interactions with her mother were fraught at the best of times. Jennifer had never recovered from the way her husband had cut both her and Allegra out of his life, as neatly and completely as if he’d been wielding scissors. Although it hadn’t felt neat. It had felt bloody and agonising, thrust from a life of luxury and indulgence into one of deprivation and loneliness, trying to make sense of the sudden changes, her father’s absence, her mother’s tight-lipped explanations that had actually explained nothing.

‘Your father decided our marriage was over. There’s nothing I could do. He wants nothing to do with either of us any more. He won’t give us a penny.’

Just like that? Allegra had barely been able to believe it. Her father loved her. He swooped her up in her arms, he tickled her, called her his little flower. For years she had waited for him to call, text, write, anything. All she’d got, on and on, was silence.

And now she was here, and what was the point? Her father was gone, and no one here even knew who she was, or what she’d once been to him.

From across the room Allegra saw a flash of amber eyes, a wing of ink-black hair. A man was standing on the sidelines just as she was, on the other side of the room. Like her he was watching the crowds, and the look of contained emotion on his face echoed through Allegra, ringing a true, clear note.

She didn’t recognise him, had no idea what he’d been to her father or why he was there—yet something in him, the way he held himself apart, the guarded look in his eyes, resonated with her. Made her wonder. Of course, she wouldn’t talk to him. She’d always been shy, and her parents’ divorce had made it worse. Chatting up a stranger at the best of times verged on impossible.

Still she watched him, covertly, although she doubted he noticed her all the way across the room, a pale, drab young woman dressed in fusty black with too much curly red hair. He, she realised, was definitely noticeable, and many women in the room were, like her, shooting him covert—and covetous—looks. He was devastatingly attractive, almost inappropriately masculine, his tall, muscular form radiating energy and virility in a way that seemed wrong at a funeral, and yet was seductively compelling.

They were here to commemorate death, and he was all life, from the blaze of his tawny eyes to the restless energy she felt in his form, the loosely clenched fists, the way he shifted his weight, like a boxer readying for a fight. She was drawn not just to his beauty but to his vitality, feeling the lack of it in herself. She felt drained and empty, had for a long time, and as for him…?

Who was he? And why was he here?

Taking a deep breath, Allegra turned and headed for the bar. Maybe she would have that drink after all. And then she would go back to the pensione where she’d booked a small room, and then to the reading of her father’s will tomorrow, although she hardly thought he’d leave her anything. Then home to New York, and she’d finally put this whole sorry mess behind her. Move on in a way she only now realised she hadn’t been able to.

She ordered a glass of red wine and retreated to a private alcove off the main reception room, wanting to absent herself as much as she could without actually leaving.

She took a sip of wine, enjoying the velvety liquid and the way it slipped down her throat, coating all the jagged edges she felt inside.

‘Are you hiding?’

The voice, low, melodious, masculine, had her tensing. She flicked her gaze up from the depths of her glass and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the man in front of her. Him.

It was as if she’d magicked him from her mind, teleported him across the room to stand here like a handsome prince from a fairy-tale, except there was something a little too wicked about the glint in his eye, something too hard about the set of his mouth, for him to be the prince of a story.

Was he the villain?

Too stunned to form a coherent response, or one of any kind, Allegra simply stared. He really was amazingly good-looking—dark hair cut slightly, rakishly long, those glinting, amber eyes, and a strong jaw with a hint of sexy stubble. He was dressed in a dark grey suit with a darker shirt and a silver-grey tie, and he looked a little bit like Allegra imagined Mephistopheles would look, all dark, barely leashed power, the energy she’d felt from across the room even more forceful now, and twice as compelling.

‘Well?’ The lilt in his voice was playful, yet with a dark undercurrent that snaked its way inside Allegra like a river of chocolate, pure sensual indulgence. ‘Are you?’

Was she what? She was gaping, that much was certain. Allegra snapped her mouth closed and forced her expression into something suitably composed. She hoped.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. Hiding, that is. I don’t know anyone here.’ She took a sip of wine, needing the fortification as well as the second’s respite.

‘Do you make a habit of crashing funerals?’ he asked lightly, and she tensed, not wanting to admit who she was…the rejected daughter, the cast-off child, coming back for scraps.

“Not unless there’s an open bar,” she joked, hefting her glass, and the man eyed her thoughtfully. Did he believe her? She couldn’t tell. ‘Did you know him?’ she asked. ‘Alberto Mancini?’ The name stuck in her throat, and she saw a flash in the stranger’s eyes, a single blaze of feeling that she couldn’t identify but which still jolted her like lightning.

‘Not directly. My father did business with him, a long time ago. I wanted to…pay my respects.’

‘I see.’ She tried to gather her scattered wits. The look of sleepy speculation in the man’s eyes made her skin prickle. His gaze was like a caress, invisible fingertips trailing on her heated skin. She’d never reacted to someone so viscerally before, so immediately. Maybe it was simply because her emotions were raw, everything too near the surface. She certainly couldn’t ever recall feeling this way before. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ He smiled and said nothing. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘I didn’t.’ His gaze swooped over her again, like a hawk looking for its prey. ‘But it’s Rafael.’

Rafael Vitali didn’t know who this beguiling woman was, but he was captivated by her cloud of Titian curls, the wide, grey eyes that were as clear as mirrors, reflecting her emotions so he could read them from across the room. Weariness. Sorrow. Grief.

Who was she? And what was her relationship to Mancini? It didn’t really matter, not now his business was done, justice finally satisfied, but he was still curious. A family friend—or something less innocuous? A lover? A mistress? She hadn’t come just for the bar, of that he was certain. So what was she hiding?

Rafael took a sip of his drink, watching the emotions play across her face like ripples in water. Confusion, hope, sadness. A lover, he decided, although she was surely young enough to be his daughter. Mancini’s wife and daughter were across the room, looking sulky and even bored. Rafael would have spared a second of sympathy for the man’s widow if he hadn’t known how she’d raced through his money. And tomorrow she would discover how little there was left…perfect justice, considering how Mancini had done the same to his mother, leaving her with nothing.

And as for his father…

He braced himself for the flash of pain, the memories he closed off as a matter of self-protection, of sanity. He never let himself think about his father, couldn’t go to that dark, closed-off place, and yet for some reason Mancini’s death had pried open that long-locked door, and now he was feeling flickers of the old pain, as raw as ever, like flashes of lightning inside him, a storm of emotion he needed to control.

‘Take care of them for me, Rafael. You’re the man of the house now. You must protect your mother and sister. No matter what…’

But, no. He needed to slam that door shut once more, and right now he knew the perfect way to do it…with this beguiling woman by his side.

‘I hope the bar is worth enduring a wake for,’ he said lightly, and she grimaced.

‘I’m not really here for the bar.’

‘I thought not.’ He braced a shoulder against the wall so he was closer to her, inhaling her light, floral scent. A flyaway strand of coppery hair brushed his shoulder. She was utterly lovely, from her silver-grey eyes to her pert nose and lush mouth, her skin pale and creamy with a scattering of red-gold freckles. ‘So how did you know him?’ he asked.

She shrugged, her gaze sliding away. ‘I knew him a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d have remembered me, to be honest.’ She let out a wavering laugh that sounded a little too sad, and Rafael resisted the tug of sympathy he felt for her. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, not now. Not when he’d already decided to sleep with her. Besides, she was no doubt been one of Mancini’s cast-off mistresses, a gold-digger in it for the money and baubles. Why feel sorry for such a woman?

And yet he couldn’t help but notice how fragile she looked, as if a breath might blow her away. There were violent smudges like bruises under her eyes, and her face was pale underneath the gold dust scattering of freckles. The figure underneath the rather shapeless black dress looked slender and willowy, with a hint of intriguing curves. ‘I can’t believe anyone would forget you,’ he said, and was amused to see her cheeks turn pink, her pupils flare, as if she were an innocent unused to compliments.

‘Well…you’d be surprised,’ she returned with an uncertain laugh. ‘What business did your father have with my—with him?’

‘A new technology for mobile phones.’ He didn’t want to talk about the past. ‘At least new at the time. The industry has moved on quite a bit since then.’ But the technology would have made his father a lot of money, if Mancini hadn’t cut him off. If he’d lived.

‘I wouldn’t know. I’m rather useless with technology. I can barely manage my own phone.’ She took a sip of wine, golden-red lashes sweeping down onto her porcelain cheeks. Rafael had the desire, unsettlingly strong, to sweep his thumb along her cheek and see if her pale skin felt as creamily soft as it looked.

‘What do you do, then?’ he asked. ‘For a living?’ He reckoned she must be in her late twenties. Had she found a new sugar daddy?

‘I work at a café, in Greenwich Village. It’s a music café.’

‘A music café? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

‘It’s a shop for instruments and libretto,’ Allegra explained. ‘As well as a café. But it’s so much more than that—it hosts concerts for aspiring musicians, and offers lessons to all sorts of people. It’s a bit of a community hub, for music-lovers at least.’

‘And you are one, I gather?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet and heartfelt, as well as a little bit sad. ‘Yes, music is very important to me.’

Rafael watched her, disconcerted by this shy admission, by the genuineness of it, of her. He didn’t want to confuse or complicate his feelings, had no intention of deepening what would be a shallow but satisfying sexual transaction.

‘I suppose I should leave,’ Allegra said slowly. ‘I don’t really have a reason to stay.’ She sounded reluctant, and when she looked up at him her eyes were full of mute appeal, wanting him to stop her. And stop her he would.

‘It’s still early,’ he said as he angled his body closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers, letting her feel both his heat and intent. Her eyes widened, and her tongue darted out to touch her lips. Primal need blazed through him. She was either artless or very, very experienced—he couldn’t tell which, but either way she enflamed him. ‘But we don’t have to stay here. Tell me what your favourite piece of music is.’

‘Oh…’ She looked surprised, and then shyly pleased. ‘I don’t think you’d know it.’

‘Try me.’

‘All right.’ She smiled, and it felt like a ray of sunlight on his soul, disconcertingly bright, reaching too many dark corners. It was just a smile. ‘It’s the third movement of the Cello Sonata by Shostakovich. Do you know it?’

‘No, but I wish I did. I wish I could hear it.’

‘He’s not one of the most well-known composers, but his music is so emotional.’ Her grey eyes developed a pearly sheen; she looked almost tearful. ‘It moves me like nothing else does.’

‘Now I really wish I could hear it.’ The look of naked emotion on her face caught at him unexpectedly. He’d started the conversation about music as a way to invite her up to his suite, but now he found he genuinely wanted to hear the piece. ‘I have a suite in this hotel,’ he said. ‘With an amazing sound system. Why don’t you come upstairs and listen to the piece with me?’

Allegra’s eyes widened with stunned comprehension. ‘Oh, but…’

‘We can have a proper drink at the same time. The bar up there is much better than the plonk they’re serving down here.’ He whisked her glass from her fingertips and deposited it on the tray of a hovering waiter. ‘Come.’ He held out his hand, willing her to agree. The evening couldn’t end here, unsettled, unsated. He needed more. He craved the connection and satisfaction he knew he’d find with her, however brief.

Allegra stared at his outstretched hand, her eyes wide, her fingers knotted together. ‘I’m not…’ she began, and then trailed off, looking endearingly uncertain. Was it an act? Or was she really reluctant?

He didn’t want her reluctant. ‘I am,’ he said, and reached for her hand, pulling her gently towards him. She came slowly, with hesitant steps, her wide-eyed gaze searching his face, looking for reassurance.

And he gave it as his fingers closed around hers, encasing the spark that had leapt between them at the first brush of skin. He drew her by the hand, away from the circulating crowds. A few people gave them curious looks, a veiled glance of envy that Rafael ignored, just as he’d ignored the subtle and not so subtle come-ons of the various women there. There was only one he wanted, and he was holding her hand.

They walked hand in hand out of the room, across the foyer, and then to the bank of gleaming lifts. Rafael’s heart started to race in expectation. He was looking forward to this more than he’d looked forward to anything in a long time.

He pressed the button for the lift, holding his breath, not wanting to break the fragile spell that was weaving its way around both of them. Not wanting to let her entertain second thoughts.

The doors opened and they stepped inside, the lift thankfully empty. As the doors closed Rafael turned to her. ‘You have the most enchanting smile.’

She looked completely surprised. ‘Do I?’ she asked, and he nodded, meaning it, because her smile was lovely, a shy, slow unfurling, like the petals of a flower. More and more he was thinking she was genuine, that her air of innocence and uncertainty wasn’t an act. At least, not that much of an act. She must have had some experience, to be mourning Mancini, and yet she almost seemed untouched.

‘You do. And I think it is a rare but precious thing.’ He leaned back against the wall of the lift and tugged her gently towards him, close enough so their hips nudged each other’s and heat flared, a spreading, honeyed warmth that left him craving more. ‘I would like to see it more often.’

‘We have been at a funeral,’ Allegra murmured, her gaze sweeping downwards. ‘There hasn’t been much cause to smile.’

The doors pinged open before Rafael had to come up with a response to that thorny statement. He stepped out, directly into the penthouse suite he’d booked. Allegra looked around the soaring, open space, her eyes wide.

‘This is amazing…’

Was she not used to such things? Rafael shrugged the question aside, drawing her deeper into the room. The doors to the lift closed. At last they were alone.

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT WAS SHE DOING? Allegra felt as if she’d stumbled into an alternate reality. What kind of woman followed a strange, sexy man up to his penthouse suite? What kind of woman fell headlong under his magnetic spell?

Certainly not her. She didn’t do anything unexpected or impetuous. She lived a quiet life, working at the café, her closest friend its owner, an eighty-year-old man who treated her like a granddaughter. Her life was small and safe, which was how she wanted it. And yet from the moment Rafael’s hand had touched hers she’d been lost, or perhaps found. She felt as she’d been wired into a circuit board she’d had no idea existed, nerves and sensations springing to life, making her entire body tingle.

She felt, and after the numbness she’d encased herself in that was both good and painful, a necessary jolt, waking her up, reminding her she was alive and someone, someone was looking at her with warmth and even desire, wanting her to be there. The knowledge was intoxicating, overwhelming.

Rafael was still holding her hand, his warm, amber eyes on hers, his smile as slow and sensual as a river of honey trickling through her.

It was dangerous, letting herself be looked at like that. Dangerous and far too easy to float down that river, see where its seductive current took her. They were here to listen to music, but Allegra wasn’t so naïve and inexperienced not to realise what that meant. Why Rafael had really asked her up here.

Nervous and unsettled by her spiralling thoughts, Allegra tugged her hand from Rafael’s and walked around the suite, taking in all the luxurious details, soaring ceilings and marble floors, ornate woodwork and silk and satin cushions on the many sofas scattered around the large living area.

‘This place really is incredible,’ she said. Her voice sounded high and thin. ‘What a view.’ Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a spectacular view of the city on three sides. ‘Is that the Coloseum?’ She pointed blindly, and then felt Rafael come to stand behind her, his body so close she could feel his heat. If she stepped backwards so much as an inch she’d be touching him, burned by him. She wanted it, and yet she was afraid. This was entirely new, and new meant unfamiliar. Strange. Dangerous.

Except…what, really, did she need to be afraid of? Rafael couldn’t hurt her, not in the way she’d been hurt before, soul deep, heart shattered. She wouldn’t let him. She was nervous, yes, because this was strange and new, but she didn’t have to be afraid. She took a deep breath, the realisation calming her. She could be in control of this situation.

‘Yes, it’s the Coliseum.’ His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and a slight shudder went through her, which she knew he felt. Daring now to prolong the moment, to up the ante, she leaned back so she was resting lightly against him. The feel of his chest, hard and warm, against her back was a comforting, solid weight, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. Making her want to stay there.

Rafael’s hands tightened on her shoulders and they stood there for a moment, her back against his chest so they could feel each other’s heartbeats. Allegra closed her eyes, savouring the moment, the connection. Because that’s what she wanted, what she needed now…to feel connected to someone. To feel alive.

So much of her life had been lived alone, since she was too shy to make friends at school, too confused and hurt to reach out to her mother, too wounded and wary to seek love from the handful of dates she’d had over the years. But this…one single, blazing connection, to remind her she was alive and worth knowing…and then to walk away, unhurt, still safe.

‘Shall we have champagne?’ Rafael’s voice was soft, melodious, and Allegra nodded. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she wanted to celebrate. Wanted to feel this was something worth celebrating.

‘That sounds lovely.’

He moved away and she turned, wishing she could get hold of her galloping emotions, her racing pulse. Feeling this alive was both exquisite and painful. What was it about this man that made her want to take a step closer, instead of away? That made her want to risk after all this time?

The pop of a cork echoed through the room, making Allegra start. Rafael poured two glasses, careless of the bubbles that foamed onto the floor. ‘Cin-cin,’ he murmured, a lazy look in his eyes, and he handed her a glass.

‘Cin-cin,’ Allegra returned. She hadn’t spoken the informal Italian toast since she was twelve years old, and the memory was bitter-sweet. New Year’s Eve at her family home, an estate in Abruzzi, snow-capped mountains ringing the property. Her father had given her her first taste of champagne, the crisp bubbles tart and surprising on her tongue. The sense of happiness, like a bubble inside her, at being with her family, safe, secure, loved.

Had it all been a mirage? A lie? It must have been. Or perhaps she was remembering the moment differently, rose-tinted with the innocence of childhood, the longing of grief. Perhaps her father hadn’t been as doting as she remembered; perhaps he’d taken a call moments after the toast, left her alone. How could she ever know? She couldn’t even trust her memories.

‘Are you going to drink?’ Rafael asked, and Allegra blinked, startled out of her thoughts.

‘Yes, of course.’ She took a sip, and the taste was as crisp and delicious as she remembered. She blinked rapidly, wanting to clear the cobwebs of memory from her already overloaded mind. She didn’t want to get emotional in front of a near-stranger.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said when she trusted herself to sound normal. ‘What do you do?’

‘I run my own company.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘What kind of company?’

‘Property. Mainly commercial property, hotels, resorts, that sort of thing.’

He was rich, then, probably very rich. She should have guessed, based simply on his presence, his confidence. Even his cologne, with the dark, sensual notes of saffron, smelled expensive. Privileged. She’d been privileged once too, before her parents’ divorce. More privileged and even spoiled than she’d ever realised, until it had all been taken away.

Not that she’d been focused on her father’s money. Although her mother complained bitterly that after the divorce she’d got nothing, that she’d had to scrounge and beg and pawn what jewellery she’d managed to keep, Allegra hadn’t really cared about any of it. Yes, it had been a huge step down—from an enormous villa to a two-bedroom apartment too far uptown to be trendy, public school, no holidays, often living off the generosity of her mother’s occasional boyfriends, a parade of suited men who came in and out of her mother’s life, men Allegra had tried her best to avoid.

All of it had made her mother bitter and angry, but Allegra had missed her father’s love more than any riches or luxuries. And at the same time she’d become determined never to rely on anyone for love or anything else ever again. People let you down, even, especially, the people closest to you. That was a lesson she didn’t need to learn twice.

‘And you enjoy what you do?’ she asked Rafael. She felt the need to keep the conversation going, to avoid the look of blatant, sensual intent in his eyes. She wasn’t ready to follow that look and see where it led, not yet, and Rafael seemed content to simply sip and watch her with a sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze.

‘Very much so.’ He put his half-full glass on a table and moved towards the complicated and expensive-looking sound system by the marble fireplace. ‘Why don’t we listen to your music? Shostakovich, you said, the third movement of the cello sonata?’

‘Yes…’ She was touched he’d remembered. ‘But surely you don’t have it on CD?’

He laughed softly. ‘No, I’m afraid not. But the sound system is connected to the Internet.’

‘Oh, right.’ She laughed, embarrassed. ‘Like I said, I’m not good with technology.’

‘You can leave that to me. I can find it easily enough.’ And he did, for within seconds the first melancholy strains of the music were floating through the room. Rafael turned to her, one hand outstretched, just as it had been before. ‘Come.’

The music was already working its way into her soul, the soft strains winding around her, touching a place inside her no person ever accessed. Music was her friend, her father, her lover. She’d given it the place meant for people, for relationships, and she’d done that deliberately. Music didn’t hurt you. It didn’t walk away.

She took Rafael’s hand, the sorrowful emotion of the cello resonating deep within her. Rafael drew her down onto the sumptuous leather sofa, wrapping one arm around her shoulders so she was leaning into him, breathing in his scent, her body nestled against his.

It was the closest she’d ever been to a man, and yet bizarrely the intimacy felt right, a natural extension of the music, the moment, both of them silent as the cello and piano built in sound and power.

Then Rafael drew her against him even more tightly, so her cheek was pressed against his chest, her body pressed against his, and Allegra closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. She needed this. She closed her eyes, the music and Rafael and the champagne all combining to overwhelm her senses even as it made her want more, to let herself be swept away on this tide of emotion and see where it took her.

Underneath her cheek Rafael’s chest rose and fell in steady, comforting breaths. His fingers stroked her arm and his breath feathered her hair. Everything about the moment felt incredibly intimate, more so than anything Allegra had ever experienced before. If only they could go on like this for ever, feeling each other’s breaths, each beat of their hearts.

The music built to its desperate, haunting crescendo and then the strains fell away into silence. It had been, Allegra knew from having listened to the piece many times, just over eight minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime. She felt both drained and intensely alive at the same time, and in the ensuing stillness neither of them moved or spoke.

‘Do you know,’ Allegra finally said softly, ‘the cello is closest instrument to the human voice? I think that’s why it affects me so much.’ She let out a shaky laugh, conscious of the tears on her cheeks, the rawness of the moment. The music had affected her more now than it ever had before.

‘It is a stunning piece of music,’ Rafael said quietly. His thumb found her tear and gently swept it away, stealing her breath, making her ache. ‘It causes me to both yearn and mourn.’

‘Yes…’ The sensitive, sincerely spoken observation pierced her to her core. This was the connection she craved, and unthinkingly she twisted in his arms, smiling through her tears, her face tilted up to his. Then she caught the blazing look in his eyes, felt its answer in the sudden, desperate thrill that rippled through her body. And this connection, even sweeter and more powerful than the last…

He dipped his head and she held her breath, the whole world suspended, expectant—and then his mouth was covering hers in a kiss that felt like both a question and an answer, a need both sating and sparking to life. It was enough, and yet it made her want so much more.

Allegra’s hands clenched on the crisp cotton of his shirt as his mouth moved with thorough and expert persuasion on hers, gentle and yet so sure. She’d never known a kiss could be like this, touching her to her very core, piercing her right through, knowing her. And right now she wanted to be known.

And then it became wonderfully, thrillingly more. In one easy movement Rafael swept her up and across the room and she found herself lying down on the soft leather cushions, his face flushed and his eyes jewel-bright as he looked down at her.

‘You are so beautiful. So lovely.’ With gentle hands he pushed her disordered curls away from her face, his fingers skimming across her skin, exploring her features. Allegra closed her eyes, submitting to his touch, revelling in it. The feel of his fingers on her face felt as intimate as the kiss, his touch so gentle and reverent it made her ache in an entirely new way.

He slid his hands lower, each touch a question, his fingers feeling her collarbone and then his palm moulding to the curve of her breast.

‘A different kind of music,’ he murmured, his mouth following the trail of his hand, and she laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. Yes, this was new music, and he was teaching her its breathtaking melody. She’d thought, in this moment, that she might feel fear, or at least uncertainty, but she didn’t.

She felt wonderful, and she wanted to keep feeling wonderful, to come alive under someone’s hands, feel as close to another person as she could. For one night. One moment. When would she ever get a chance like this again?

Somehow Rafael had managed to slip her dress from her shoulders, and now her upper half was bare to him. He bent his head, nudging aside her bra with his tongue, and she gasped aloud, the feel of him against her sensitised flesh a jolt to her whole body.

‘Oh…’ The single syllable held a world of newly gained knowledge as pleasure pierced her with sweet arrows. Her hands roved over his back, drawing him closer to her, desire an insistent pulse inside her.

Of their own accord her hips rose, welcoming the knowing touch of his hand. His fingers brushed her underwear and she bit off a gasp. She’d had no idea…

Rafael lifted his head, his gaze glittering as he looked down at her, his breathing as ragged as her own. The obvious fact that he wanted her as much as he wanted him solidified her certainty that this was what she wanted. What she needed. A connection, pure and true.

‘Will you come into the bedroom with me?’

She nodded wordlessly, knowing there was only one answer her aching body and heart could give.

‘Yes.’

In one fluid movement Rafael rose from the sofa and drew her towards the bedroom. Allegra followed, barely conscious of her rucked-up dress, her tangled hair.

The bedroom was as elegant and luxurious as the living area, and Allegra glanced at the massive king-sized bed, standing on its own dais and covered in a navy satin duvet. Rafael turned her to face him, framing her face with his hands as he kissed her again, even more deeply, and she responded, his kiss drawing a deep, pure note from her soul.

Rafael tugged the zip down the back of her dress so the black silk fell away, leaving her in nothing but her bra and pants, both simple and black, hardly sexy, and yet his gaze gleamed with approval as he looked at her, and her heart swelled. She had never realised how wonderful it felt, to have a man look at her like that. Want her like that. He drew her towards him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hips nudging his so she could feel the hard length of his arousal against her stomach.

‘Cold?’ he whispered, and she shook her head.

No, she was not cold. It was a balmy spring evening, and the hotel suite was warm. The shiver was because of him, and he knew it, and she didn’t care.

He kissed her again, working his way down her jaw and collar bone to press his lips against the V between her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his hair, anchoring herself to him. She felt adrift in sensation, and his touch was the only thing that tethered her to earth.

Then he was moving his mouth lower, peeling away her bra and pants with his hands, sinking down onto his knees in front of her so Allegra swayed, shocked and overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her hips, his mouth…

‘Oh…’ Her breath came out in shattered gasps. It was so unbearably intimate, to have him looking at the very essence of her, revering her in an act so selfless and giving and… ‘Oh.’

Rafael’s dark chuckle reverberated through her bones as her body trembled on the precipice of an orgasm that felt like an explosion. He rose again and drew her to the bed, leaving her trembling and aching and wanting more.

She watched, dazed, as he shucked off his clothes, revealing a bronzed torso, the muscles of his abdomen scored into hard, perfect ridges. His legs were long and powerful, and as for the most male part of him…

He was a work of beauty.

‘You may look,’ Rafael said as he covered her body with his. ‘And you may also touch.’ And then he was kissing her again, his arousal pressing into her with thrilling insistence, and that restless ache became an overwhelming clamour in her body, drowning out all thought, all doubt.

She gasped out loud as his fingers touched her in her most intimate and feminine places, teasing, toying, exploring, knowing. Her fingernails dug into the satiny skin of his shoulders as her body strained for the glittering apex she felt, just out of her reach, a pinnacle she needed to find, that she wanted them to ascend together.

And then, finally, he was sliding inside her, his breathing harsh and ragged as he filled her up, the momentary twinge of pain lost in the utter rightness of the sensation, the union complete and total.

He stopped, swearing under his breath, and, lost in a haze of need, Allegra stilled underneath him.

‘Rafael…?’

‘You are vergine?’ he demanded, and she gulped.

‘Yes…’

He swore again, his forehead pressed to hers. ‘I had no idea…’

‘Why would you?’ she managed, and he let out a shudder, his eyes clenched closed.

‘You should have told me.’

‘Rafael…’ She arched her hips upwards, letting her body plead in a way her words could not. She couldn’t let him stop now, not when everything in her was aching and demanding. With a groan he kept moving, the delicious slide of his body in hers making Allegra forget that tense moment as she gave herself up to the sensations cascading through her, building in a beautiful crescendo, and then the glittering apex burst into crystalline shards of pleasure around her as she let out a cry that rent the still air and then fell away like the most sacred note of music she’d ever heard.

Rafael rolled off Allegra, managing to suppress the curse that sprang to his lips once more. She’d been a virgin. He hadn’t expected that, not even when he’d decided she was artless and genuine, and guilt soured like acid in his stomach. He’d stolen someone’s innocence. He’d used someone who should have been protected, cared for. He’d done something he’d sworn he would never do again. Break a sacred trust.

He’d assumed she was a woman of some experience, even if she’d seemed a little shy. He never would have brought her upstairs otherwise. He never would have gone ahead with his seduction.

And yet…the music, the mood, the way Allegra had looked at him with hungry hope…all of it had made him yearn in a way that now left him feeling deeply uneasy. Sex was a transaction, nothing more, pleasurable and easy as it was. He didn’t ever let it mean anything, and he hoped like hell Allegra wasn’t imbuing it with some kind of emotion he would never let himself feel.

And yet it had been the innocent purity of her response that had been his undoing. He hadn’t even used birth control. The realisation crystallised like ice inside him. He’d meant to reach for a condom, but in the moment he’d completely forgotten. He’d lost his head. He’d certainly lost control of his body.

Next to him Allegra was still, a rosy flush covering her pale, porcelain body, the perfect foil for the creaminess of her skin. Her hair was spread across the pillow in a tangle of red-gold curls, making him want to thread his fingers through them even now, and pull her towards him for an open-mouthed kiss. Even now, with his climax still thudding through him, knowing how innocent she’d been, he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman so quickly, or so much.

Allegra rolled on her side, curling into him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Rafael froze, confusion colliding with alarm, irritation with guilt. He didn’t do pillow talk. Ever. All of his bed partners knew what he expected in bed, and what he definitely didn’t want. He made it very clear from the beginning that emotional attachments were a no-go zone, except Allegra, of course, hadn’t received that memo. And as a virgin she would no doubt expect some intimacy now, some soft talk that he knew he was utterly incapable of. He didn’t let people get close. People he could hurt. People he could fail.

As he’d already hurt Allegra, deflowering her in what amounted to a tawdry one-night stand.

Her leg found its way between his, her damp cheek pressed to his chest. She let out a shuddering sigh.

‘I miss him,’ she whispered, her voice sounding broken. ‘I miss him so much.’

Shock had Rafael stilling. What the hell…? ‘Miss him?’ he repeated tonelessly.

‘I know I shouldn’t, there’s nothing to miss,’ she continued softly. ‘I hadn’t even seen him in fifteen years. But I do miss him. I miss what we once had, what I thought we had. That’s why I came tonight, I think. Because I was looking for something, some kind of closure…’

She was talking about Mancini. But fifteen years… She couldn’t have been his mistress. She was in her late twenties at most.

‘Allegra,’ Rafael asked hoarsely, turning to stare down into her pale, lovely face. ‘Who are you?’

She looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes. ‘I’m his daughter,’ she said simply, and Rafael bit down on the curse that sprang to his lips.

Allegra was Alberto Mancini’s daughter. The daughter of his enemy, his nemesis, was lying in his arms, seeking his comfort, because her dear father, the man who had as good as murdered his own, was dead.

His stomach heaved. He felt a thousand different emotions—fury and guilt, disgust and alarm, regret and sorrow. He was sickened by his own part in this unexpected drama, taking a woman’s innocence, a woman who he should, by rights, have nothing to do with. He’d hated the Mancinis for so long, had wanted only justice…but what was this? What was he? Allegra was looking for comfort and he had none to give.

He rolled away from her and out of bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on in one jerky movement. From behind him he heard Allegra shift in bed, and then her voice, trembling, uncertain.

‘Rafael?’

‘You should go.’ His voice was brusque; he didn’t think he could have gentled it if he’d tried. Anger was coursing through him now, a pure, clean rage. Mancini’s daughter. Did she know what her father had done? Did she realise the blood he had on his hands? Reasonably he knew she couldn’t; she must have been a child when his own father had died.

And yet…she was a Mancini. She missed her father, a man he’d hated. She’d been innocent, and he’d abused it. His feelings were a confused tangle of guilt and anger, shame and frustration. It was all too much to deal with. He needed her out of his life. Immediately.

‘You…you want me to go?’ Her voice was a trembling breath of uncertainty.

‘I’ll call you a cab.’ He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. Then, because she still wasn’t moving, he grabbed her dress and tossed it to her. It fell on her lap; she didn’t even reach for it.

She looked gorgeous and shocked, sitting in his bed, the navy sheet drawn up to her breasts, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes heartbreakingly wide.

‘But… I don’t understand.’

‘What is there to understand?’ Each word was bitten off with impatience. Innocent she might might have been, but surely she could figure out what was going on. ‘We had a one-night stand. It’s over.’ He paused. ‘If I’d known you were a virgin, I would have done things a bit differently. But as it was…’ He shrugged. ‘You seemed happy enough with how things happened.’

She blinked as if she’d been slapped, and then she lifted his chin, showing a sweet courage that made his emotions go into even more of a tailspin.

‘I was,’ she agreed with emphasis. ‘I may be innocent, but even I can tell when an exit strategy needs some work. And yours sucks.’

‘Thanks for the tip, but the sentiment remains the same.’ Rafael folded his arms, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Too many emotions had been accessed tonight, too many raw nerves twanging painfully. He couldn’t take any more. She had to go.

Allegra took a deep breath, lifting her chin, blinking back tears. ‘Will you give me a moment of privacy to dress?’ she asked with stiff dignity, and although he could have retorted that he’d already seen her naked, Rafael didn’t have it in him to be that cruel. Her fragile courage touched him in a way he didn’t like, and he gave a terse nod before stalking from the room.

He needed a drink, something far stronger than champagne. This didn’t feel at all like he’d expected it to, needed it to. He’d been looking for satisfaction, and instead he felt more restless than ever. Restless and remembering.

‘All you have is your honour, Rafael. That’s all that’s ever left. Your honour and your responsibilities as a man.’

But he had neither now.

The door to the bedroom opened just as Rafael poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He forced himself not to turn as he heard Allegra’s heels click across the marble floor of the living area. Remained with his back to her as she pressed the button for the lift and the doors pinged open.

‘Goodbye,’ she said, her voice soft and sad and proud all at once, and then she was gone.

Alone in his penthouse suite, Rafael raised the glass of whisky to his lips. He stared out at the unending night and then, instead of drinking, he threw the tumbler against the wall, where it shattered.

CHAPTER THREE

ALLEGRA SAT DOWN in the lawyer’s office, her stomach seething with bitter memory as well as nerves. It was the day after her father’s funeral, and also of the biggest mistake of her life. She’d left Rafael’s hotel suite with her chin held high but her self-esteem, her whole self in tatters, everything in her reeling from his treatment of her.

He’d been so tender, and she’d felt so treasured. Had it all been a lie? Again? It seemed she did have to learn that lesson twice. People weren’t what they seemed. They said and did what they liked to get what they wanted and then they walked away.

And she was the one left, alone and hurting.

Except, she’d told herself last night, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling of her bedroom in the modest pensione, she didn’t have to be hurt by this. Before it had begun she’d told herself she wouldn’t be. What they’d done together might have seemed meaningful at the time, but he was still a stranger. A sexy, selfish, unfeeling stranger. It wasn’t as if she’d loved him. She hadn’t even known him.

She’d made a mistake, she told herself as she rose from bed that morning, body and heart aching with fatigue. A sad, sorry mistake, because she’d given a part of herself to someone who hadn’t deserved it. She’d searched for comfort and affection from someone who had neither wanted nor offered neither. She’d survive, though. She had before.

She’d lost her father when she’d felt most vulnerable, had watched him walk away from her without a backward glance. She’d seen her mother withdraw into bitterness and desperation, and she’d fended for herself since she was eighteen. Over the years she’d lost plenty of dreams, and this didn’t have to hurt nearly as much. She wouldn’t let it.

Signor Fratelli had been insistent that she attend the meeting, although Allegra didn’t know why. She doubted her father had left her or her mother anything; if he hadn’t given her anything in life, why would he in death? She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, to sitting in a stuffy room with her father’s second wife and stepdaughter, the family he’d chosen. Still, it would be a few minutes of discomfort and tension, and then she could return to New York. Act as if none of this had ever happened.

‘Signorina Mancini.’ The lawyer greeted her with a tense smile as Allegra was ushered into the stately room with its wood-panelled walls and leather club chairs. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘It’s Signorina Wells, actually,’ Allegra said quietly. Her mother had reverted to her maiden name, as had Allegra, after the divorce. She glanced at Caterina Mancini, whose icy hauteur didn’t thaw in the least as her arctic-blue eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked away from Allegra and she didn’t offer a greeting.

Next to her, her daughter Amalia, around the same age as Allegra, shifted uncomfortably, giving Allegra a quick, unhappy smile before looking away. Allegra felt too tired and on edge to return it. The other woman had her mother’s cool blonde looks without the icy demeanour. In different circumstances, another life, Allegra might have considered getting to know her. Now she could barely summon the emotional energy to sit next to the two women who had taken her and her mother’s places in her father’s life.

Signor Fratelli began making some introductory remarks; through a haze of tiredness Allegra tried to focus on what he was saying.

‘I am afraid, in recent weeks, there has been some change to Signor Mancini’s financial situation.’

Caterina’s gaze swung to pin the lawyer. ‘What kind of change?’ she demanded.

‘Another corporation now has controlling shares in Mancini Technologies.’

Caterina gasped, but the words meant little to Allegra. She still didn’t know why the lawyer had insisted she be there for such news.

‘What do you mean, controlling shares?’ Caterina asked, her voice high and shrill.

‘Signor Vitali of V Property has secured controlling shares,’ the lawyer explained. ‘Only recently, but he is now essentially the CEO of Signor Mancini’s company. And he will be here shortly to explain his intentions regarding its future.’

Allegra sat back and closed her eyes as Caterina’s ranting went on. What did she care that some stranger now owned her father’s company? None of this was relevant to her. She shouldn’t have come. Not to the lawyer’s, and not even to Italy.

‘Ah, here he is,’ Signor Fratelli said, and then the door to his office opened and Rafael appeared like a dark angel from her worst dreams.

Allegra stared at him in shock, too stunned to react other than to gape. He looked remote and professional and very intimidating in a navy blue suit, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a hard line. His cool gaze flicked to Allegra and then away again without revealing any emotion at all. Allegra shrank back into her chair, her mind spinning, her body already remembering the sweet feel of his hands… What was he doing here?

Signor Fratelli stood. ‘Welcome, Signor Vitali.’

Maybe because she was so tired and overwhelmed, it took Allegra a few stunned seconds to realise what it all meant. Rafael was Signor Vitali of V Property. He owned her father’s company. Had he known who she was last night? Was it some awful coincidence, or had she been part of his takeover? She pressed her hand to her mouth and took several deep, steadying breaths. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up all over Rafael Vitali’s highly polished shoes.

She was so busy trying to keep down her breakfast that she missed the flurry of conversation that swirled around her. Distantly she registered Caterina’s outraged exclamations, Rafael’s bored look. Signor Fratelli was looking increasingly unhappy.

Allegra straightened in her chair, her hands gripping the armrests as she struggled to keep up with what was being said.

‘You can’t do this,’ Caterina protested, her face pale with blotches of angry colour visible on each over-sculpted cheekbone.

‘I can and I have,’ Rafael returned in a drawl. ‘Mancini Technologies will be dissolved immediately.’

Allegra stayed silent as Rafael outlined his plan to strip her father’s company of its apparently meagre assets. Then Signor Fratelli chimed in with more devastating news—nearly all of her father’s assets, including the estate in Abruzzi, had been tied up with the company. The result, Allegra realised, was that her father had died virtually bankrupt.

‘You killed him,’ Caterina spat at Rafael. ‘Do you know that? He died of a heart attack. It must have been the shock. You killed him.’

Rafael’s expression did not change as he answered coldly, ‘Then I am not the only one with blood on my hands.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Caterina demanded, and Rafael didn’t answer.

Numb and still reeling from it all, Allegra turned to Signor Fratelli. ‘May I go?’ She didn’t think she could stand to be in the same room as Rafael much longer. He’d used her. More and more she was sure he’d known who she was, and had planned it. Had it amused him, to have the daughter of the man he’d ruined fall into his hands, melt like butter?

‘There is something for you, Signorina,’ the lawyer told her with a sad smile. ‘Signor Mancini had a specific bequest for you.’

‘He did?’ Surprise rippled through her along with a fragile, bruised happiness, even in the midst of her shock and grief. Signor Fratelli withdrew a velvet pouch from his desk drawer and handed it to Allegra.

Caterina craned her neck and Rafael and Amalia both looked on as Allegra clasped the pouch. She didn’t want to open it in front of them all, but it was clear everyone expected it. Caterina was bristling with outrage, seeming as if she wanted to snatch the precious bag from Allegra’s hands.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the pouch and withdrew a stunning necklace of pearls, with a heart-shaped diamond-encrusted sapphire at its centre. She knew the piece; it had belonged to her father’s mother, and her mother had loved to wear it. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. The value of the piece was not in its jewels but in the sheer, overwhelming fact that her father had remembered her. She clenched the necklace in her fist, gulping down the emotion, before she managed to give Signor Fratelli a quick nod.

‘Grazie,’ she whispered, the Italian springing naturally to her lips.

‘There is a letter as well,’ Signor Fratelli said.

‘A letter?’ Allegra took the envelope from the lawyer with burgeoning hope. Perhaps now she would finally understand her father’s actions. His abandonment. ‘Thank you.’ The letter she refused to open here. She rose from her seat, making for the door.

As she brushed past Rafael she inhaled the saffron scent of his cologne and her stomach cramped as memories assailed her.

His hands touching her so tenderly. His body moving inside hers in what had been an act more intimate than anything Allegra had ever experienced or imagined. She’d understood all along that it had been a one-night stand; she’d known that they weren’t building a relationship. And yet the reality had been both harsher and more intense than she’d ever expected—both the import of what she’d shared with Rafael and the cruelty of him kicking her out the door.

Now, on shaking legs, with her head held high, she walked past him and out the door. She’d just started down the steps when the door opened behind her and Rafael called her name.

Allegra hesitated for no more than a second before she kept walking.

‘Allegra.’ He strode easily to catch her, touching her lightly on the arm. Even the brush of his fingers on her wrist had her whole body tensing and yearning. Remembering. She shook him off.

‘We have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Actually, we do.’ His voice was low and authoritative, commanding her to stop. She paused, half turning towards him, wanting to ignore how devastatingly attractive he looked even now.

‘What,’ she demanded in a shaking voice, ‘could you possibly have to say to me now? You got your revenge.’

‘Revenge?’ His mouth firmed into a hard line. ‘You mean justice.’

‘Did you know I was his daughter last night?’ Allegra demanded shakily. ‘Did it…did it amuse you, having me fall all over you when you knew you were ruining him?’

‘I didn’t know you were Mancini’s daughter, and if I had, I wouldn’t have touched you. I want nothing to do with any Mancini, ever.’ He spoke with a cold flatness that made Allegra recoil.

‘Why? What had my father ever done to you?’

‘That is irrelevant now.’

‘Fine.’ She wouldn’t let herself care. She intended to forget Rafael Vitali ever existed from this moment on. ‘Then we have nothing to say to each other.’

‘On the contrary.’ Once more Rafael stayed her with his hand. ‘We didn’t use birth control.’

Five simple words that had her stilling in frozen shock, dawning horror. She licked her lips, her mind spinning. She was so innocent, had felt so overwhelmed, that the fact they hadn’t used birth control hadn’t even crossed her mind. She was ashamed by her own obvious naiveté.

‘If you are pregnant,’ Rafael continued in a low, steady voice, ‘then you will have to tell me.’ His tone brooked no argument, no protest.

‘Why?’ Allegra demanded. ‘You wanted to have nothing to do with me last night. Why would you want to deal with my child?’

‘Our child,’ Rafael corrected her swiftly. He handed her a business card, which Allegra took with numb fingers. ‘Naturally I hope this will come to nothing. But if it does not, I am a man of honour.’ Cold steel entered his voice, making Allegra flinch. ‘I take care of what is mine.’

Come to nothing.

An appropriate term for the evening they’d shared, and any possibility emerging from it. Allegra longed to rip his business card into shreds, but the gesture seemed childish. She crumpled it in her fist instead.

‘Suffice it to say,’ she bit out, ‘I have no desire ever to speak to you again, about anything.’

‘I’m serious, Allegra.’

‘So am I,’ she choked, and then hurried down the stairs.

Back at the pensione, still trembling from her encounter with Rafael, Allegra finally opened the letter from her father.

Dear Allegra,

Forgive an old man the mistakes he made out of sorrow and fear. I cared more for my reputation than for your love, and for that I will always be sorry.

Your mother loved this necklace, but it belongs to you. Please keep it for yourself, and do not show it to her.

I don’t expect you to understand, much less forgive me.

Your Papa.

Tears streaked silently down her face as she read the letter again and again, trying to make sense of it. He’d loved his reputation more than her? What did that even mean? The letter hadn’t answered anything, only stirred up more questions.

And yet…he was sorry. He had loved her. But if that was the case, why had he been able to let her go?

Rafael sat in the lawyer’s office, the acid of regret churning in his stomach. In his mind he could see Allegra’s huge, silvery, tear-filled eyes, and another pang of guilt assailed him. He’d handled last night badly. He knew that, yet he also knew he couldn’t have changed his reaction. Alberto Mancini had killed his father. What he’d done in exchange to Allegra—treating her harshly after a single night together—was negligible in comparison.

As for a possible pregnancy…he would provide for any child of his, absolutely. There was no question about that at all. But he hoped to heaven and back that Allegra was not carrying his baby. And he wished he’d been able to temper his actions last night, at least a little. Or, even better, that the whole night had never happened.

Yet even as the thought flitted through his mind he knew he was a liar. Last night had been incredible, explosive, the most intense sexual encounter of his life. He hadn’t used birth control because he’d been so overcome with desire, with basic, blatant need. He’d wanted her last night and seeing her this morning, looking so pale and proud, he’d wanted her all over again, to his own shame.

‘Signor Vitali? Is there anything left to say?’

Rafael blinked the lawyer back into focus, along with Mancini’s widow and stepdaughter. He’d thought he’d enjoy seeing Caterina Mancini brought low but, despite the obvious fact that she was a gold-digger, he felt sorry for her. She’d had nothing to do with his father’s downfall, and right now his eye-for-an-eye justice tasted bitter.

And if she was right, and Mancini had died of a heart attack, of shock at having his business bought out from under him…

Then he’d killed Mancini just as Mancini had killed his father.

Uncertainty and guilt cramped his stomach. He didn’t like either emotion, would not entertain them for a moment. If his actions had brought about Mancini’s death, then so be it. Justice had finally, fully been served. He had to believe that.

Allegra travelled back to New York in a daze, sleeping nearly the entire flight, wanting only escape from the grief and memory and pain.

The world felt as if it had righted itself a little bit when she was back in her studio apartment in the East Village, enjoying the quiet, peaceful solitude of her own space, the sound of muted traffic barely audible from the sixth floor. She’d said hello to Anton, her boss and landlord, and then retreated upstairs. All she needed now was some music to help to soothe and restore her.

Allegra automatically reached for her favourite Shostakovich before her hand stilled, her stomach souring. Had Rafael ruined her favourite music for her for ever? Maybe. She chose some Elgar instead, and then curled up on her sofa, hugging a pillow to her chest, trying not to give in to tears.

A few minutes later her mobile rang, and Allegra’s heart sank a little to see it was her mother.

‘Well?’ Jennifer demanded before Allegra had said so much as hello. ‘Did you get anything? Did I?’

‘It was a lovely funeral service,’ Allegra said quietly, and Jennifer merely snorted. Her mother held no love, or even any sentiment, for Alberto Mancini. ‘We didn’t get anything,’ she said after a tiny pause. Although she didn’t understand it, she would heed her father’s advice not to tell her mother about the sapphire necklace. ‘He didn’t even have much to give.’ She explained about Rafael Vitali and his takeover of Mancini Technologies, striving to keep her voice toneless, betraying none of the emotion still coursing through her at the memory of that one earth-shattering night. She’d forget it. She’d start forgetting it right then. She had to.

‘Vitali?’ Jennifer said sharply. ‘He bought the company?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not that it has anything to do with us.’

‘No,’ Allegra agreed dourly. ‘Although Caterina Mancini accused him of practically killing…’ Even now she could not say Papa. He might have signed the letter as her papa, but he hadn’t acted or felt like one since she’d been a child. ‘Him. Because the heart attack might have been brought on by shock.’ The thought that Rafael might have actually killed her father was like a stone inside her.

And she’d given herself to this man.

Jennifer was silent for a moment. ‘It’s over,’ she said at last, and that knowledge rested in Allegra’s stomach like lead. Yes, it was over. It was all over.

Over the next month Allegra did her best to move on with her life. She worked at the café, she chatted with customers, she walked in the park and tried to enjoy the small pleasures of her life, but after that one earth-shattering night with Rafael, everything felt dull and colourless.

It was foolish to miss him when he’d treated her so brutally, and yet Allegra felt like Sleeping Beauty who had been woken up. She couldn’t go back to sleep again. Retreat was not an option, and yet it was the only one she’d ever known.

So she tried to forget about that evening entirely, but a month after she returned from Italy she threw up her breakfast. She passed it off as having had a dodgy takeaway the night before, but when she threw up the next morning, realisation crept in, cold and unwelcome. The third morning she bought a pregnancy test.

She stared down at the two pink lines in shock, realisation coursing through her in an icy wave. It seemed too unfair that on top of having the misfortune to have slept with Rafael Vitali and then been brutally rejected by him, she now was carrying his baby. One night—and now this?

Her baby. Her child, living inside her, like a flower, waiting to unfurl. The maternal instinct was so strong it took her breath away. She hadn’t expected it, had never even thought about having children, not seriously. After all, she was perennially single, with no one in the picture or even on the horizon.

And yet…a baby. Someone to love, someone to make a family with, a proper family. She would never abandon her baby the way her father had abandoned her. She’d never take out her frustration and bitterness on her child the way her mother had on her. She’d be the best mother she knew how to be, already loving this scrap of humanity with a fierceness that surprised and humbled her.

A baby. A new start, a second chance at love, at life, at happiness. Allegra placed one protective hand across her middle and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘CARO?’

The teasing, lilting voice of the woman Rafael had picked up in a bar only irritated him. He glanced across at her, noting the ruthlessly toned limbs, the well-endowed chest, the pouting mouth. None of it appealed to him. He couldn’t even remember her name.

‘You can go.’

Her lipsticked mouth dropped open in outrage and Rafael turned away, bored and disgusted. He hadn’t even touched her, and he didn’t want to. His libido had barely stirred once since Allegra had left his bed. He hadn’t slept with anyone, had lost interest.

‘Rafael…’ She reached out her arms, her pout deepening, and impatience bit at him.

‘Seriously. Go.’ He gestured to the door of his penthouse suite. He was in Paris on business, and as the blonde beauty stalked towards the door, it occurred to Rafael that he was behaving just as he had before, throwing a woman out of his room.

Seemed he didn’t have a great track record.

But, damn it, he’d expected her to call. A courtesy call, at least, to tell him she wasn’t pregnant. Although why he should expect courtesy from her when he’d shown her so little he didn’t know.

So she hadn’t called. Obviously she wasn’t pregnant, and he could move on with his life. He could forget Allegra Wells and the sweet purity of her smile, the tears that had streaked down her porcelain cheeks when she’d listened to that music, the way her body had yielded and curled into his, accepting him wholly in a way he’d never felt before. Complete. Right.

Idiot.

It had been a casual sexual encounter, one of many, nothing more. Allegra Wells was out of his life…for good. Which was just how he wanted it, because he was done with the Mancinis. He’d taken the man’s business, dismantled the industry that had been built on his father’s grave.

Justice had been served, and yet there was no one to share his victory. His mother and father were dead, and he didn’t even know where Angelica was. The family he’d sworn to protect and provide for was scattered, destroyed. And Rafael still felt restless, vaguely guilty and unfulfilled, as if he was missing something…or someone.

‘This might be a little cold.’

Allegra winced slightly at the feel of the cold gel on her tummy and then the insistent prodding of the ultrasound wand. It was her eighteen-week scan, and she couldn’t wait to see her baby. She craned her neck to gaze in anxious curiosity at the black and white screen and the fuzzy image that suddenly appeared, along with the whooshing, galloping noise of her baby’s heart.

Excitement leaped inside her as the figure gained definition and clarity—head, arms, legs, beating heart. Everything tucked up like a present waiting for her. Allegra let out a choked cry, smiling through her tears.

It hadn’t been an easy pregnancy. It was over three months since she’d made the decision to keep this baby, three months of debilitating morning sickness, throwing up nearly every morning and twice having to go to hospital to be treated for dehydration. She’d lost weight, struggled to work, and wondered how on earth she was going to manage as a single mother.

Because she intended to do this alone. She couldn’t face telling Rafael about their baby. She couldn’t face her child having a father like she’d had, one who would walk away when he felt like it. She still didn’t understand what her father’s note had meant, and she hadn’t dared yet to ask her mother about it, but she’d experienced enough of Rafael Vitali to know she couldn’t trust him to stick around.

Still she didn’t know how she was going to manage, in a studio apartment with a low-paying job. She hadn’t figured it out yet, but she would. Eventually. Now, however, her all of her fears fell away at the beautiful sight of her baby. Her baby.

The technician frowned and poked harder with the wand. Allegra winced. Then, more alarmingly, the technician put the instrument down and rose from her seat by the examining table where Allegra was lying.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she murmured, and then left the room.

Allegra lay there, shivering from the cold gel, her gently rounded belly damp and exposed. Unease crept icy fingers along her spine. Technicians weren’t supposed to leave in the middle of an appointment like that, surely?

She found out moments later when an important-looking doctor in a white lab coat followed the technician back into the room, frowning as she looked at the screen with the beautiful, fuzzy image of Allegra’s child.

‘What’s going on?’ Allegra asked, her voice high and strained with anxiety.

‘Just a moment please, Miss… Wells.’ The doctor glanced briefly at her file before turning her narrowed gaze back on the screen. Something was wrong. Allegra could feel it in her bones, in her frightened, hard-beating heart. Something had gone wrong with this pregnancy. With her baby.

She lay there, everything in her frozen and fearful, as the doctor took the wand and began to prod her belly once more, murmuring to the technician who murmured back, none of it audible to Allegra.

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, tell me what’s going on.’

The technician gave her a smile of such sorrowful sympathy that Allegra wished she hadn’t asked. Then she handed her a paper towel to wipe off the gel while the doctor continued to study the image on the screen—the image of her baby.

‘Dr Stein will speak with you shortly,’ the technician murmured.

Moments later Allegra had all the answers she didn’t want. The words reverberated emptily through her, making horrible sense and sounding unintelligible, impossible, at the same time. Congenital heart defect were the three words that hurt the most.

‘But what does that mean exactly?’ she demanded, her voice shaking. She knew there were heart defects that were operable. There were even some that were asymptomatic, hardly worth mentioning. But looking at Dr Stein’s compassionate face, she feared her baby didn’t have one of those.

‘The particular defect we’re discussing is life-threatening,’ Dr Stein said quietly. ‘The baby wouldn’t live past a few months of age, if that.’ Allegra gaped and she continued, ‘We’ll order an amniocentesis as soon as possible, to know for sure what we’ll dealing with. This may take up to three weeks, I’m afraid. Based on the ultrasound, it could be one of several heart defects, of varying seriousness.’

‘But you think it’s a more serious one?’ Allegra whispered, and Dr Stein gave her an unhappy look.

‘I’m afraid that, yes, it’s looking like that, but we won’t know until we get the results of the amniocentesis. It’s difficult to diagnose this kind of condition from only a scan.’

Allegra walked home in a fog, barely aware of the steps that took her up to her sixth-floor studio. Anton poked his head out of his apartment to ask how she was, and Allegra didn’t even know what she said. The world felt muted, as if everything was taking place far away, to other people. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all mattered any more.

She lay on her bed, one hand pressed against her middle. Already, she’d barely been coping, stumbling through each day, trying to survive the awful morning sickness that had exhausted her so utterly. She hadn’t let herself think too much about the future, and now it looked like there might not be one. How was she going to wait three long weeks to find out?

And through the haze of her grief and fear, one fact kept coming back to torment her. She should have told Rafael. No matter how he had treated her, he should know she was pregnant with his child. He should be aware of what was happening.

Still she resisted. She didn’t want to give him a chance to reject her all over again, along with their baby. She didn’t want to face his accusations and anger, as he no doubt would be furious that she hadn’t told him she was pregnant. She especially didn’t want to open herself up to hurt.

Since Rome, she’d done her best to push all thoughts of Rafael out of her mind. She’d told herself there was still time to tell him about the baby, if she ended up deciding that was the best thing to do, which she wasn’t at all sure it was. She just needed to feel better first, to find her feet. When she felt stronger, she could think about whether she wanted Rafael involved, even if everything in her had shied away from it.

But now? Now everything had sped up and become urgent. She had to make hard decisions, agonising choices. And Rafael deserved to be a part of that process, even if she dreaded talking to him again.

Allegra battled the possibilities in her mind as the date of her amniocentesis came closer. Finally, two days before the scheduled procedure, she took out the crisp white business card Rafael had handed her outside the lawyer’s office. With trembling fingers she dialled the mobile number printed starkly on the card.

He answered after two rings. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s Allegra.’ Her voice was a thready whisper, and she straightened, determined to be strong. The silence on the end of the line stretched on for several seconds.

‘Yes?’ Rafael finally said again, his voice tense, guarded.

Allegra took a deep breath. ‘I’m calling because something has happened.’ Rafael didn’t say anything and she forced herself to continue. ‘I’m pregnant and—’

‘You’re pregnant?’ His breath hissed sharply between his teeth. ‘By me?’

‘Yes, of course by you—’

‘Then why are you telling me now? You must be halfway through your pregnancy.’

‘Almost,’ Allegra agreed.

‘Then why—?’

‘Rafael, please, just listen. I’m pregnant and I had an ultrasound and it looks like there is something wrong with the baby. Something serious.’ Her voice caught and she dashed at her eyes with her hand. She couldn’t break down now. She had to stay strong. The last person to look for comfort from was Rafael.

Rafael remained silent for a few taut seconds. ‘What kind of thing are you talking about?’ he finally asked.

‘A congenital heart defect.’ Allegra drew a ragged breath. ‘I’m having an amniocentesis in two days’ time to determine—’

‘In New York?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Shock had her mouth dropping open. ‘Be there? But—’

‘Of course I’ll be there,’ Rafael said roughly. ‘This is my child. Isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is.’

‘Then I’ll be there. I’ll call again tomorrow to confirm the details.’

Allegra wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting Rafael’s response to be, but that wasn’t it. As she hung up the phone she battled between trepidation at seeing him again and a treacherous relief that someone was going to walk through this with her. She was used to being alone, preferred it, but she didn’t want to be alone in this.

And yet Rafael? She was, Allegra knew, going to have to be careful. With her baby, and with her heart.

Rafael drummed his fingers against the armrest as the limo cut smoothly through Manhattan’s midtown traffic, heading towards Allegra’s flat in the East Village. The shock and fury he’d felt that she’d hidden her pregnancy from him for so long had been replaced by a far greater fear for the health of their unborn child. He was going to have a child. Someone to protect and provide for, cherish and guard with his life. A life he would treasure, if he ever got the chance.

Rafael had never believed in the idea of atonement, and yet he thought of it now. Perhaps the sins of the past could be righted by this future…his child’s future. Perhaps he would finally find the peace and satisfaction he craved, through the life of this innocent.

He’d deal with Allegra’s wilful deception later; right now they needed to get through the current crisis…whatever happened. He’d let down those who’d depended on him before and he wouldn’t do it again. He would not fail his child.

The limo pulled up in front of a tall brick building. Rafael’s mouth thinned as he stepped out of the limo and scanned the names by the buzzers. His eyes narrowed as he saw that Allegra was on the sixth floor, and the building had no lift. She was walking up and down six flights of stairs every day? Surely that could not be good for her or their child.

He pressed the buzzer and her voice, sounding tired and wavering, came through the intercom.

‘I’ll be right down.’

Tense with anxiety, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and scanned the building again. It looked run-down and dangerous, a drift of takeaway menus littering the front step, the bins outside overflowing. This was no place for the mother of his child to live.

Moments later Allegra appeared in the doorway. As she opened the door, Rafael tried to hide his shock. She looked terrible—her face was pasty and pale, her hair lifeless and dull, and she’d lost far too much weight. The T-shirt and light trousers she wore for a humid summer’s day in the city hung on her like rags on a scarecrow.

Rafael stepped forward to take her arm. She recoiled slightly at his touch, but he held her arm anyway. ‘You look as if a breath of wind might blow you away.’

‘I’ve been ill.’

‘You should have called me earlier.’ He could not keep the recrimination from his voice.

‘Please, let’s not argue. It’s taking all my strength to get through this day already.’

Rafael nodded tersely, knowing she was right. Every instinct in him clamoured to demand why she’d hidden the pregnancy from him when he’d been as clear as he could that he’d wanted to know. But now was not the time. Still, he determined grimly, the time would come. He’d make sure of it.

He helped Allegra into the car, noting the way she sank into the seat with a relieved sigh, resting her head against the leather cushions.

‘What did you mean, you’ve been ill?’ he asked as the limo pulled away from the kerb.

‘Morning sickness,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve had it terribly. I’ve hardly been able to keep anything down.’

You should have told me. He bit back the words. ‘Isn’t there anything the doctors can do? Medication…?’

‘I was prescribed something, but it didn’t really help. It’s started to get a little bit better recently, thank goodness, and my doctors think it might go away soon if…’ She bit her lip, her eyes bright with tears.

Rafael could finish that awful sentence. If she continued with this pregnancy, if their baby was healthy. ‘We need more information,’ he said gruffly, ‘before any decisions are made.’ But already he’d made a decision. He wasn’t leaving her, and she wasn’t staying in a walk-up flat in a run-down neighbourhood. Her place, no matter what happened, was with him. He would protect her and their baby. He thought back to that terrible day, outside his father’s study door. He’d failed in protecting those he loved that day. He’d been too weak, too slow to act, too naïve. But he would not fail again. The need to protect his ill-gotten family burned within him, brighter and fiercer than anything he’d ever felt before.

Allegra could feel the tension emanating from Rafael, but she didn’t have the energy to wonder or worry about it. All her strength was taken up with preparing for what lay ahead.

She’d barely slept last night, too worried by both the procedure and its possible results. She hadn’t even had time to think about Rafael and seeing him again.

And yet now that he was here…she inhaled the saffron scent of his aftershave, felt the coiled, restless power of him, just as she had before. It made her ache. It made her remember. Even now she felt a treacherous dart of desire. How stupid, considering their situation, and the way he’d treated her.

They didn’t speak all the way to the hospital, but that was okay. Allegra didn’t think she could manage chit-chat, and talking about what mattered felt too hard. The limo pulled up to the front of the hospital, and Rafael leapt out before Allegra could so much as reach for the handle.

He opened her door and with one arm around her shepherded her into the building. She wasn’t that fragile, but she craved his protectiveness now. It felt strange, when she’d taught herself not to rely on anyone. Now she wanted to. She needed to.

Before long they were in a treatment room, with Allegra lying down on the examining table and Rafael sitting tensely on a chair next to her. A technician prepared her for the ultrasound, and the now-familiar whooshing sound of her baby’s heart filled Allegra with both relief and joy.

She glanced across at Rafael, shocked and then touched by the look of tender wonder softening his face. His surprised gaze met hers and he gave her a smile that seemed almost tremulous. Another point of connection, as sweet as any they’d ever shared, and yet… Could she trust it? Dared she think about what happened next, or in the long term?

‘Now this won’t take long,’ the doctor assured her. ‘And it shouldn’t hurt too much. I’ve given you a local anaesthetic to numb the area, but you might experience some minor discomfort and cramping.’

Allegra took in the size of the needle and instinctively reached for Rafael’s hand. He encased her hand in his larger one, and she squeezed it hard as the needle went in. It didn’t hurt, but it still scared her. Everything about this scared her.

In a few moments it was over, and the technician was wiping the gel off Allegra’s stomach.

‘Are you all right?’ Rafael asked in a low voice, and Allegra nodded.

‘Yes. I think so.’ She felt shaky and a bit tearful, and she had some mild cramps, but nothing she couldn’t deal with. She tried to shake his hand off, wanting to be strong, but he kept holding hers.

‘You need to rest.’

‘You should take the rest of the day off,’ the doctor advised. ‘Normal activity can be resumed tomorrow.’

Rafael frowned at that, but said nothing. Together they left the treatment room, and it wasn’t until they were in the limo and Rafael was telling the address to the driver that Allegra realised he wasn’t taking her home.

‘Wait—where are we going?’ she asked.

‘To my hotel near Central Park.’ Rafael sat back.

‘But I want to go home,’ Allegra said. She wanted her bed and her music and the comforts of the familiar.

Rafael glanced at her, his expression unreadable. ‘That apartment is completely inappropriate for a woman in your condition.’

‘You mean pregnant?’ Allegra stared at him, surprised by his high-handedness even as she wondered why she should be. Rafael had been completely in control of every situation she’d seen him in.

‘Climbing six sets of stairs to get to your home cannot be good for our baby,’ Rafael stated.

‘Plenty of women do that and more—’

‘Yet you are the one I care about,’ Rafael cut her off. ‘And frankly you look terrible—tired, pale, drawn. You need proper rest.’

‘Thanks very much,’ Allegra snapped. Her feminine pride was hurt by his blunt assessment, even though she knew she didn’t look good, and hadn’t for a while.

‘The reason I look tired, Rafael, is because I’ve had extreme morning sickness, not because I climb some stairs.’

‘It can’t help.’

‘So what are you suggesting? That I move house?’

‘Precisely,’ Rafael answered in a clipped voice. ‘You will live with me in my hotel suite until the results from the amniocentesis return.’

She stared at him in disbelief. She’d wanted someone to lean on, yes, for a little bit. But not someone to take over her life. Yet should she have expected anything else from this man? ‘I can’t live with you,’ she protested. ‘I don’t want to live with you. I have a job—’

‘Managing a café, on your feet all day? Take sick leave.’

‘I can’t—’

‘Then I shall arrange it.’

Allegra simply stared, too shocked by his autocratic statements to frame a suitable reply. She should have expected this, but she’d been so tired and shaky and fearful, she’d just been glad to have someone to lean on for a little while. Now she was starting to wish she’d never called Rafael at all. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Even so.’ Rafael was as unmovable as a brick wall, his expression obdurate. And meanwhile they were speeding towards Central Park, away from her flat, her job, her life.

‘You can’t just waltz into my life and make all these changes and demands,’ Allegra persisted. ‘I won’t let you.’

Rafael raked a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Allegra had the strange sense that he was battling a deeper emotion than she understood. ‘I realise you do not want me to tell you what to do,’ he said evenly. ‘But when you put your emotional reaction to that aside, you will surely realise that I am right.’

Allegra let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. ‘What I didn’t realise is how unbelievably arrogant you are.’

Rafael’s mouth firmed. ‘This isn’t about arrogance. I’m not issuing orders simply to show who’s in control.’

‘Really?’

‘I am considering your health, Allegra, as well as that of our child.’

‘And if I refuse?’ Allegra asked. ‘What will you do?’

‘Why would you refuse? You want what is best for our baby, do you not? As do I.’

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes burned. He dared to suggest she didn’t care for their child? ‘Of course I do.’

‘Then surely rest and relaxation in a comfortable place is it? Why overtax and strain yourself when you don’t have to? Why climb six sets of stairs when you don’t have to?’ He held up a hand to stem any protests she might have made. ‘I understand that climbing the stairs might have no negative effect on your pregnancy. But what if there is the smallest chance that it did?’ He leaned forward, his eyes burning bright. ‘If you could turn back time, do things differently…’ For a second his voice choked, and Allegra had the distinct feeling he was talking about something else.

‘What would you change, Rafael?’ she asked quietly. ‘What would you do differently?’

He shook his head, the movement abrupt and dismissive. ‘It is now that matters. Now you have the chance to make the best choice for your—our—baby.’

Allegra stared at him, both transfixed and uncertain. ‘You can’t keep me in some bubble. Pregnant women are able to live normally.’

‘Two weeks is all I’m asking. Two weeks until we know what we’re dealing with, and then we can reassess. Discuss.’

Discuss what was likely to be a life-threatening condition. The unshed tears that burned behind her lids threatened to fall. Suddenly it felt like too much; her resistance had been feeble but it was all she had. She couldn’t fight any more, couldn’t stay strong and remote as she always tried to.

‘Fine.’ She sagged against the seat as the limo pulled up in front of one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. ‘You win.’ Relief and triumph flashed in Rafael’s amber eyes, and in that moment she wondered just how much she was conceding.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALLEGRA BLINKED SLEEPILY in the early evening gloom of the hotel suite’s master bedroom. She’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep almost as soon as her head had touched the soft, feather down pillow, and judging by the twilight settling softly over the city sky she’d been asleep for several hours.

She stretched and then snuggled under the soft duvet, tempted to stay there for ever. When they’d arrived at the hotel suite, Rafael had been graciousness itself, insisting she take the master bedroom, ringing for some juice when she said she was thirsty, and telling her to sleep for as long as she’d liked.

When she’d crawled into the king-sized bed Allegra had realised just how exhausted she really was, and her last thought before she drifted off was that she was, in the end, glad Rafael had insisted she come here. Not that she intended on admitting as much to him.

Now, as she struggled to a sitting position with a wide yawn, she wondered what exactly she was supposed to do here. What they were supposed to do. An afternoon was one thing, but did Rafael really expect her to stay here for two weeks, kicking her heels, until the amnio results came back? And what was he going to do while she waited? How were they supposed to get along? Battling deeper unease, Allegra rose from the bed.

She treated herself to a long, lovely soak in the sunken marble tub and then dressed in her summery trousers and top before heading into the main living area of the suite in search of Rafael.

He was sitting at a desk in a study alcove off the sumptuous living room, frowning down at his laptop, but he looked up quickly as she stepped from the doorway of the bedroom.

His gaze scanned her searchingly from her damp hair curling about her face to her bare feet. ‘You slept well?’

‘Yes, very well. It’s been ages.’ It was, she’d seen as she’d dressed, nearly seven o’clock at night.

‘Are you hungry?’ Rafael rose from the desk. ‘I ordered a variety of dishes from room service. I hoped something might appeal to you.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ After months of barely managing a mouthful, she knew she needed to eat more.

‘Come into the dining room.’

Allegra followed him into the dining room that adjoined the kitchen, which was just as elegant as every other room in the suite. The place was twenty times the size of her studio, decorated with silks and satins, antiques and exquisite paintings. She felt almost as if she were in a museum—a very comfortable, luxurious museum.

‘Wow,’ Allegra managed, surprised and touched by the spread of food left in warming dishes on the table. She saw clear broths and simple pasta dishes, fresh fruit and half a dozen different salads. Amazingly, despite the constant nausea she’d been battling for the last few months, she felt a little hungry. ‘This looks amazing.’

‘Take whatever you like. We can eat out on the terrace.’

‘Thank you.’ He was being so kind, and yet she was afraid to trust it. Reluctant to start depending on his charity and consideration, when it all could change so suddenly…just as it had before.

Rafael handed her a plate and Allegra took it and began to serve herself from some of the dishes. ‘How were you able to book the penthouse suite of this place?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard it’s booked months in advance.’

Rafael shrugged one powerful shoulder. ‘Considering I own this hotel, it was not a problem.’

He owned this hotel? It was one of the city’s best. Allegra had known Rafael was wealthy and powerful, but it was brought home to her yet again in that moment—along with the realisation of how he could wield that power, if he so chose. How he already had, taking over her father’s business. This was man who was ruthless, brutal in his determination to get what he wanted…whatever that was. She needed to remember that.

Allegra finished filling her plate and then took it outside to the terrace overlooking Central Park. The air was a balmy caress, and the terrace was decorated with potted plants and fairy-lights, making it feel like a little bit of the park had been brought thirty floors up.

‘This is lovely,’ she said as she sat on a chaise and picked at a few mouthfuls of pasta salad. ‘Thank you.’

Rafael sat across from her, his plate balanced on his lap. He was wearing the dark trousers and crisp white shirt he’d worn earlier, the shirt now opened at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat. Stubble glinted on his jaw and the whiteness of the shirt was a perfect foil for his burnished, olive skin. He looked, Allegra acknowledged with a pang, as devastatingly attractive as he had that night in Rome. As irresistibly desirable…except, of course, she would resist him. She had to, because the situation was fraught enough, dangerous enough. She couldn’t let herself depend on him any more than she already was. She certainly couldn’t start to care for him.

‘I’ve arranged for you to take the next two weeks off work,’ Rafael stated as he forked a mouthful of pasta.

‘What? How?’

‘I spoke to your employer and landlord, Anton. He understands.’

Allegra’s head was spinning. ‘But you… Two weeks?’ She blinked at him. ‘But—’

‘You have exhausted yourself, whether you realise it or not. You need a proper rest, both for your own health and our child’s.’

Allegra couldn’t deny that, but she still chafed against his commands. She was used to being independent. She needed to feel strong. ‘That was not your call to make. This is my life, Rafael.’

‘And as I said before, I know you want what is best for the baby.’

It was a trump card he could play every time, and there was nothing she could do about it, because he was right. She enjoyed her job, but it had been exhausting and she knew she couldn’t keep it up for ever. A rest, even one that was enforced, had some merit, as reluctant as she was to admit it to him.

But a rest here with Rafael? Allegra still couldn’t imagine spending the next two weeks with him. There was so much they hadn’t discussed…his heartless dismissal of her after their night together, her hiding her pregnancy, even the business his father had had with hers. Her father’s death. There was so much tension and latent anger and uncertainty—and now they were meant to get along?

And beyond that, she didn’t even know Rafael. She’d intentionally tried not to think of him since they’d parted, wanting to forget about him completely. She’s resisted doing Internet searches, even though she’d been tempted to know more about him.

And now here they were, sitting across from each other, their baby nestled inside her. Allegra didn’t know what to think of any of it, how to respond, how to feel. Part of her was clamouring for retreat, while another part recognised that that was no longer an option, not with a child to think of. A child to love.

In any case, now certainly wasn’t the time to tackle any of those difficult issues. They just needed to get through the next two weeks and see what the results of the amniocentesis were.

They spent the evening, incongruously, sitting next to each other on the sumptuous silk-covered sofa, watching TV on a huge flat screen that had been hidden behind an oil painting. After the first few tense minutes Allegra started to relax, enjoying being able to turn off her brain and watch reality TV fluff. And she enjoyed the feel of Rafael’s strong body next to her, his thigh touching hers, his arm stretched along the back of the sofa. She could almost imagine this was normal, that she was normal, with a baby and a husband and a life like so many women wanted and had.

Which was a very dangerous way to think.

The next morning Rafael suggested they go to her flat to pick up her things, and they rode in silence down Park Avenue to her little studio. It felt strange to have Rafael in her personal space, his inscrutable gaze flicking over her belongings—her framed concert posters, her few personal photos—even the shelf of well-thumbed cookbooks in the tiny alcove kitchen felt revealing of her somehow.

‘I didn’t realise you actually played.’ He nodded towards the cello on its stand in the corner.

‘I don’t, not really.’ She looked away, not wanting to talk about her cello playing, or lack of it. She hadn’t played since she was eighteen years old.

‘Do you wish to bring it to the hotel?’

‘No,’ she said after a moment, her tone reluctant but firm. ‘I won’t play it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze narrowed, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in her head. Allegra looked away. She couldn’t explain her complicated relationship to music, how much it meant to her, how it had provided something she knew instinctively people were meant to provide. She certainly didn’t want to go into the reason why she’d stopped playing the cello, the dismal failure she’d been. Thankfully Rafael let the subject drop.

After gathering her clothes, books, and a few personal items, they headed back to the hotel. Allegra knew she couldn’t put off something she’d been dreading—calling her mother.

Although they lived in the same city, she and Jennifer rarely saw each other. Her mother had her own life on the Upper East Side, tightly enfolded in a clique of aging socialites and impoverished divorcées, trying to live in the manner she preferred with the help of boyfriends and benefactors, and an endless diatribe of high-strung negativity.

Allegra understood the reason for it, knew her mother had never recovered from her father’s divorce and abandonment, his decision to end their marriage so abruptly and cut them off with barely a cent, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with her.

Jennifer hadn’t been much interested in Allegra’s pregnancy so far, except to remind her repeatedly that single motherhood was no picnic, thereby launching down an endless memory lane trip of her own struggles and regrets until Allegra had tuned her mother out. But the mention of a wealthy father to her grandchild was sure to prick Jennifer’s ears up and have her asking all sorts of questions. Questions Allegra didn’t feel much up to answering right now.

After she’d unpacked in her room, and with Rafael installed in the study on his laptop, Allegra made the call.

‘You’re what?’ Jennifer asked sharply when Allegra had explained she was staying at the hotel.

‘Just for a little while.’ Allegra took a deep breath. ‘Rafael Vitali is…he’s the father of my baby. We…we got together when I was in Italy.’

‘Rafael Vitali? This is the son of Marco Vitali?’

Startled, Allegra said, ‘I… I suppose so. I don’t know. Why? Do you know his father?’

‘Your father did business with him a long time ago,’ Jennifer said after a pause. ‘It didn’t work out.’

Unease prickled along Allegra’s spine. She thought of Rafael’s cold remark. ‘I am not the only one with blood on my hands.’

‘What do you mean, it didn’t work out?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jennifer dismissed. ‘It’s in the past. But be careful,’ she added in an unusual display of motherly concern. ‘Your father didn’t trust his, and I… I wouldn’t trust him either.’

She didn’t trust him. Didn’t want to trust him. And yet… ‘I trust Rafael to care for his child,’ Allegra said, because that, at least, was true.

Out in the living area Rafael looked up from his laptop when she emerged from the bedroom.

‘You called your mother?’

‘Yes.’ Allegra paused, wondering how much she wanted to probe the past. ‘She mentioned that your father did business with mine, and that it didn’t work out.’

A lightning flash of emotion sliced across Rafael’s face, too quickly for her to discern what it was, and then he carefully closed his laptop. ‘Yes, that is true. They worked together on a mobile phone technology that would now be considered laughably obsolete, and they fell out over it.’

‘Fell out?’ Allegra regarded him uneasily, sensing something dark flowing beneath his calm surface, and nervous to dip a toe into it. ‘Is that why you decided to take over my father’s company? Some kind of revenge for what happened before?’

‘Justice,’ Rafael corrected swiftly. His face remained bland, but Allegra saw that his eyes were watchful and hard.

‘What do you mean, justice? What are you not telling me? And why… why did you make that comment about blood on your hands?’

Rafael’s jaw tightened, his eyes like chips of amber. ‘Now is not the time to delve into the past.’

‘But it’s obviously important—’

‘What is important is your health and well-being.’ He rose from the desk. ‘I have booked some spa treatments for you this afternoon to help you relax. They are aimed specifically at pregnant women.’

‘Oh…’ Allegra blinked, startled all over again. ‘Thank you.’ She felt as if her head was spinning. One moment Rafael seemed as hard and unyielding as granite, and the next he was all softness and solicitude. Which was the real man? Who did she dare trust…if either?

Rafael paced the living room of the hotel suite, waiting for Allegra to return from her afternoon of spa treatments. He felt anxious, and he didn’t even know why. At least, not exactly why. Since Allegra had catapulted back into his life he’d been struggling with a tidal wave of fury that she’d attempted to hide her pregnancy from him, and a stronger surge of both protectiveness and fear to keep both her and their child safe.

The memory of when he’d failed his family, his fists beating on his father’s study door, his useless words. And then the aftermath. His mother’s wan face, his sister’s desperate defiance…their whole family falling to pieces, disintegrating before his eyes. It tormented him, when he allowed himself to think of it. The thought of failing Allegra and their child in a similar way or even at all was appalling. Unacceptable. And he wouldn’t let it happen. He would do everything in his power to keep Allegra and their baby safe and well. Everything…for her well-being as well as his own.

He knew Allegra had questions about his father. His past. The deception and death that still haunted his nightmares and could ruin things between them. She still loved her father—that much was obvious—even though the man had abandoned her. He couldn’t tell her the truth about him, not without jeopardising their own situation and Allegra’s barely-there trust in him. The past, he determined, would have to stay buried.

The door to the suite opened and Allegra stepped inside, and the clear purity of her smile, the ivory blush of her skin made something twist hard inside Rafael’s gut. He suddenly felt breathless, which was entirely a new feeling and made him feel poleaxed, reeling from the strength of his own reaction. He forced a smile.

‘How was it?’

‘Wonderful. I feel more relaxed than I have…well, ever.’ She let out a little laugh, her grey eyes sparkling like silver. ‘I’ve never even had a massage before. And look at my nails!’ She held out her hands to him, her nails painted pale pink, and as a matter of course Rafael caught them up in his, drew her to him.

Allegra came easily, caught up in the moment, and he wasn’t even thinking as he bent his head to kiss her, already anticipating the sweet, soft taste of her. Her lips parted soundlessly, her eyes fluttering closed, her golden-red lashes fanning onto her porcelain cheeks.

His lips brushed hers and Allegra let out a little sigh. Rafael pulled her closer and then he felt her stiffen in his arms. Her eyes flew open, filled with confusion. She shook her head and then drew away.

‘No, I’m sorry…we can’t…’

Of course they couldn’t. The last thing they needed was this kind of complication…except he wanted it so badly. Rafael raked a hand through his hair, desire surging through his body. He was shocked by his instantaneous and overwhelming response, his heart thudding.

Allegra was still looking at him in dazed confusion, her pupils dilated with desire even as her mouth twisted with uncertainty.

The time would come, Rafael decided. Maybe not yet, not when everything was so uncertain, when their child’s future hung in the balance. But the time would come. It had to.

CHAPTER SIX

‘I HAVE A surprise for you.’

Allegra looked up from the book she was reading with a cautious smile. Rafael stood in the living-room doorway, the slight curve of his mouth softening his harsh features.

It had been a strange and unsettling ten days, living in the hotel with Rafael, finding a new and tentative normalcy. It had taken a little while, but eventually she’d been able to relax into a routine. Rafael had spent most of his time working in the hotel’s business centre so Allegra hadn’t seen him nearly as much as she’d expected to, which was, to her irritation, both a disappointment and a relief. He was often out in the evenings, although they’d shared a few rather tense meals together, neither of them completely comfortable co-existing in this weird limbo.

Rafael seemed as closed off as ever, his inscrutable manner giving nothing away, although towards her he was all solicitous concern, arranging for private museum tours, taxis and, recalling her shelf of cookbooks in her apartment, baking.

Rafael had insisted she order whatever ingredient or implement she wanted, and with a fully stocked, gourmet kitchen at her disposal Allegra was soon enjoying experimenting with new recipes. Her morning sickness was easing and she was actually starting to enjoy food again.

And then, of course, there was the almost-kiss they’d shared. She’d come back from the spa both buzzing and relaxed, and for a moment, with Rafael’s warm gaze on her, it had felt so natural, so easy to fall into his arms. To tilt her head and wait for his kiss, that connection.

The shock she’d felt when his lips had barely brushed hers, the deep desire that had blazed a streak of lightning need straight through her, had thankfully made her take a step back. Getting involved with Rafael that way was far too dangerous. She was already well out of her comfort zone, simply being here with him, seeing him in passing in the hotel suite. She couldn’t stand an even deeper intimacy, as much as her body craved it.

‘A surprise,’ she repeated now, her eyebrows raised. ‘What kind of surprise?’

Rafael drew two tickets from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. ‘Box seats to the New York Philharmonic playing Bach’s cello suites at the Lincoln Center.’

‘Oh!’ She stared at him in unabashed delight—those were the kind of tickets that were usually well out of her price range, and she was touched that Rafael had thought to buy them. ‘That’s wonderful. When?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

Allegra’s smile faded as she admitted, ‘But I don’t have anything to wear…’ Her maternity clothes consisted of a couple of pairs of loose cotton tops and shorts, and soon her burgeoning belly was going to require more.

‘Problem solved. I’ve arranged for one of the top maternity designers to come here with a selection of evening gowns. You can take your pick.’

‘Oh. Wow.’ Not for the first time, Allegra was both touched and unsettled by Rafael’s thoughtfulness and generosity. At times he seemed a million miles from the cold, hard stranger who had booted her out of his bed. But then at other times…

‘Thank you,’ she said now. ‘For all of it. You’re very kind.’

Rafael shrugged. ‘I thought it might be nice to have a distraction. And when I saw it was a concert for the cello…’

‘You’re very thoughtful. And a distraction would be wonderful,’ she said, smiling shyly. Rafael nodded and gave her the tiniest of smiles back.

The next morning a glamorous woman dressed all in black arrived with a couple of assistants carrying several plastic-swathed hangers each. While Allegra relaxed with herbal tea and croissants, the assistants laid out all the different evenings gowns—silks and satins, above-the-knee and full-length, in every colour of the rainbow. Allegra had never felt so spoilt for choice, or simply spoiled. She felt positively indulged as she stroked the dresses’ soft fabrics and fingered exquisite lace.

‘I don’t know which to pick,’ she admitted, and Amanda, the fashion designer, swooped in.

‘With your colouring I’d advise the ice-blue. It will make your eyes pop and do wonderful things for your complexion.’

‘Will it?’ Allegra asked, bemused that a simple dress could do so much. Of course, the gown in question was far from simple, with its diamanté-encrusted halter-neck top and daring backless design. ‘I don’t know.’ She nibbled her lip. ‘It looks a bit…sexy.’

‘Why can’t a pregnant woman be sexy?’ Amanda countered with a little smile. ‘You’re blooming and gorgeous. Let people know it.’

Allegra laughed. ‘I haven’t felt either all pregnancy. I’ve felt as worn and wrung-out as an old dishrag.’

‘You don’t look it now,’ Amanda said firmly. ‘And you won’t look it in that dress.’

Persuaded, Allegra tried on the ice-blue gown and was amazed at how different she looked. The dress clung to her fuller breasts and slight swell of her bump before flaring out from her thighs to swirl about her feet. The backless design left the entire creamy expanse of her back bare, right to the swell of her bottom. She blushed to imagine Rafael seeing her in something like this. What if he thought she was trying to impress him? Was she? Suddenly her feelings were in a ferment.

‘I don’t know…’ Already she was reaching for the diamanté ties, doubtful as to whether she could carry off something like this. Amanda stayed her hand.

‘Trust me, no man could resist you in this dress, and certainly not the father of your child.’ Her small, knowing smile made Allegra blush.

Did she want to be irresistible to Rafael? Sex was out of the question, and even kisses would complicate their already ambiguous relationship. The last thing she wanted was to be hurt…again. And yet…she’d felt worn out and ugly for months. The thought of looking good, really good, and having Rafael’s eyes widen with surprise and then flare with desire…

She was tempted. She was seriously tempted.

That evening, as Allegra got ready for their night out, she started to doubt the wisdom of picking such a blatantly sexy dress. What if Rafael was put off by it? What if he thought she was throwing herself at him? What if she was?

And, really, the whole ensemble, from the diamond chandelier earrings Amanda had insisted she wear to match her father’s sapphire necklace to the four-inch silver stiletto heels encasing her feet, felt a little much. Some people wore jeans to the Philharmonic. She didn’t need to be quite so OTT.

And yet it was nice to feel beautiful. The silky material slithered over her skin and the diamonds winked at her ears. The heart-shaped sapphire nestled in the hollow of her throat, winking and glinting. Amanda had arranged for a make-up artist and hairstylist to finish her look, her hair held up by diamond-tipped pins, with a few curls cascading down to rest on her shoulders. She’d never, Allegra knew, looked so good.

Even so, she was still battling doubt as she left the safety of the bedroom. Outside the Manhattan skyline glittered, the entire city spread out before them. Rafael turned, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of her.

Allegra tried to smile but she felt so nervous and exposed that she wasn’t sure she managed it. Rafael looked almost unbearably sexy in a midnight-black tuxedo, the snowy white shirt offsetting his olive skin, his hair brushed back from his forehead, his eyes glittering like polished bronze, everything about him radiating that restless energy that had drawn her to him nearly five months ago.

‘Is it too much?’ she asked with an uncertain laugh. ‘The dress, I mean?’ Her hands fluttered at her sides and she lifted her chin, trying for pride. She’d chosen this dress. She’d wear it no matter what Rafael thought…and yet she wished he’d smile or say something. He was practically scowling.

‘You look…’ Rafael stopped, his voice hoarse. Allegra waited, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest. ‘Magnificent.’

A smile unfurled like a flower across her face, and then she was beaming. She couldn’t help it. A distant voice in her head was telling her not to be so obvious, not to let Rafael affect her. Why should she care what he thought? Why should she want to please or impress him? She shouldn’t. She most certainly shouldn’t.

And yet as Rafael grinned back that voice was silenced. Tonight she was a beautiful woman, and he was a handsome man, and they were going to hear the most wonderful music together. Allegra wanted to let herself enjoy it without trying to stay safe or sensible. She wanted to forget that she didn’t trust him, wasn’t even sure she liked him, and that the future was entirely uncertain. Tonight she wanted to leave all that behind and enter into the magic. And so she would.

Rafael had never seen Allegra look so beautiful. She was more than merely beautiful—she was incandescent, breathtaking. The ice-blue of her gown flowed like cool water over her perfect curves, the faint bump of her belly making a deep, protective urge rise within Rafael like a primal howl of possession. She was his. No matter what the results of the amniocentesis were, no matter what the future held. His to protect, to provide for, to possess. His.

Then he saw the sapphire pendant at her throat and it slammed into him yet again who her father was, who his was, and all the hard history that lay between them…dark, difficult history Allegra didn’t know about, but which marked every moment of Rafael’s life. History that reminded him that letting someone into your life, even just a little, was a terrifying responsibility as well as a formidable risk.

A faint frown marred Allegra’s brow and Rafael banished the memory, the realisation, the fear. Those were not for tonight, when all he wanted to do was enjoy the evening…and Allegra. He stretched out his hand and she took it, slender fingers sliding between his. She squeezed his hand, and it felt like a promise, an agreement. Tonight was for them, for magic.

Wordlessly he led her downstairs to the waiting limo.

The evening felt expectant, although for what Rafael couldn’t say. Despite their near-kiss over a week ago, he didn’t actually expect anything physical to happen between them. He didn’t want it, not if he forced himself to think rationally. If he let his libido lead the way, he’d peel that slippery dress from her creamy skin and have her in the back of this limo.

Yet far more unsettling than his desire for her was his desire to please her. He’d found himself arranging small treats and pleasures for her all week, simply to see her reaction. He told himself it was part of his duty, his responsibility to take care of her. The feeling inside him, as if his heart was a balloon floating higher and higher, was just a fringe benefit.

In any case, he wasn’t going to start feeling things for Allegra Wells. After losing everyone he cared about, he was hardly going to let someone else get under his skin. Into his heart. No matter what happened with their child.

The Lincoln Center was glowing with lights as the limo pulled in front of the concert hall where the Philharmonic was playing. Rafael saw more than one man steal a speculative or even lascivious look at Allegra as she moved through the crowd, a stunning goddess with her red-gold curls tumbling artfully onto her bare, creamy shoulders.

She turned to glance back at him, grey eyes sparkling like silver stars. ‘This is amazing, Rafael. Thank you.’

Every time she said his name he felt an arrow of satisfaction pierce him sweetly. He told himself it didn’t matter.

They took their seats, Allegra excitedly perusing her programme like a child on her first trip to the circus.

Her enthusiasm made Rafael smile as he leaned forward to ask her, ‘Haven’t you been to concerts before?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, dear. Is my newbie status showing?’

‘It’s charming,’ Rafael replied, ‘but I would have thought, as a seasoned New Yorker, as well as a music-lover, this would be old hat to you.’

She shook her head, curls bouncing. ‘No, not really. Not at all. I’ve been to concerts, but they’ve been free ones in churches and things like that. I’ve never heard the Philharmonic play live.’

‘Never?’ He was surprised.

She gave him a laughing look. ‘Not everyone’s a millionaire.’

Billionaire, actually, but he wasn’t going to debate the point. He sat back in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him. ‘Your father had plenty of money.’ Not that he remotely wanted to talk about her father.

‘My father did,’ Allegra agreed quietly, some of the sparkle gone from her eyes, ‘but we didn’t. My mother didn’t get anything from the divorce.’

Rafael frowned. ‘She must have had some financial settlement.’

‘Nope, not a penny.’ Allegra shrugged. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘She didn’t sue for alimony?’ It didn’t make any sense.

‘I was only twelve, I didn’t ask. And I haven’t asked since then because, to be honest, it just gets her going. She’s always been bitter about it. All I know is my father managed to arrange things so we were left with nothing.’

Rafael supposed he shouldn’t be shocked; he knew how heartless Mancini had been. But he was surprised, on Allegra’s behalf. Why did she still care about him when he’d treated her so badly? ‘So how did you survive?’

‘My mother sold some jewellery to start, and she also had various boyfriends who helped.’ Allegra made a face. ‘That sounds awful, doesn’t it? But my mother was used to living in a certain style, and it still makes her furious that she can’t.’

‘And what about you? Does it make you furious?’

Allegra shrugged, her gaze sliding away as her fingers touched the sapphire nestled at her throat as if it was a talisman. ‘I don’t care so much about things. And I’ve supported myself since I was eighteen.’

‘Eighteen.’ Another surprise. ‘Did you go to university?’ He realised that, despite having spent the last week and a half in her company, he didn’t know that much about her or her life. Not that he’d actually spent much time with her. He’d intentionally stayed away, not wanting to complicate matters. Not wanting to get close. Now, however, he realised he wanted to know more about her… even if it unwise.

‘No, I didn’t.’ Allegra pursed her lips, her gaze shadowed. ‘I decided it wasn’t for me.’

Rafael felt sure there was something she wasn’t saying, but he had no idea what it was. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Did you go to university?’

‘No, I went to work when I was sixteen.’ He felt his chest go tight, his jaw hard, just because of the memories. His fist bunched on his thigh and he forced himself to relax. ‘We needed the money.’

‘Then we have something in common.’ Allegra gazed at him in sorrowful compassion, and Rafael knew she was keeping herself from asking about their fathers on purpose. Neither of them wanted to prise open that Pandora’s box right now.

‘Yes, I suppose we do,’ he said, and smiled. She smiled back and he felt the tension in him ease.

Then the lights dimmed, and they both settled back in their seats as the music began. Rafael wasn’t that much of a connoisseur of music, but he loved seeing the look of rapt attention on Allegra’s face. She was utterly arrested, a pearly sheen in her eyes, her hands clasped to her chest. He’d never seen someone look so thoroughly enthralled, and it touched a place deep inside him, a place he hadn’t accessed in a long time. It made him yearn and mourn, just as he had when they’d listened to Shostakovich. Watching Allegra, he wanted to feel as much as she did. He wanted to let himself.

The concert came to an end, the last notes of music fading away into an aching stillness, and Allegra rose from her seat, dashing the tears from her face with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Sorry, music always affects me like that.’

In the space of a second he was catapulted back to that night in Rome when she’d said the same thing. When he’d felt as powerfully as he did now, wanting this woman with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified him.

He’d wiped away her tears then, and she’d let him, and then they’d made love. It had been the most incredible sexual experience of his life, and he could remember every exquisite detail of that evening, of Allegra’s response, of the way she’d felt under his hands and mouth.

He watched a rosy blush sweep across Allegra’s skin and knew she remembered it all too. They stared at each other for a prolonged moment, eyes wide, hearts beating hard, the moment spinning on and growing in strength. The desire was still there, and more powerful than ever. More dangerous too. Would they act on it as they had before?

Neither of them spoke in the limo on the way back to the hotel. Rafael couldn’t keep from imagining himself reaching out one hand to tangle in Allegra’s hair, drawing the diamond-tipped pins out one by one and then anchoring his lips to hers. He pictured sliding his hands under her gown, hauling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. With a suppressed groan he shifted on his seat, trying to ease the now persistent ache in his groin. He was torturing himself with these kinds of thoughts.

Allegra was quiet, her face pale, her expression thoughtful as she gazed out at the traffic streaming by in a bright blur of light. He thought she was feeling what he was, but even now he couldn’t be sure. She’d drawn away from him once already. Even if she desired him, he knew that she didn’t want to.

It was a pertinent reminder that, no matter what, sex would be complicated between them. Fraught and maybe emotional. And he didn’t need or want to feel more for this woman than he already did. Then his leg brushed hers and an electric current zinged through his body. He couldn’t help but feel.

They rode up the lift in silence, and then he was swiping the key card and they were in their suite, the rooms dim and hushed, as if everything was waiting for this moment.

It would be so easy to take her into his arms. To plunder her mouth. To peel the dress away from her body. All the things he’d been imagining, wanting…

Everything, anything, felt possible. He heard Allegra draw a shuddering breath and knew she felt it, just as he did. Just as much.

‘Allegra…’ His voice was an ache in the darkness, and he reached out one hand, fingertips brushing her shoulder. Her skin was as soft and silky as he remembered. She shuddered again, a ripple of longing that went through her whole body, and he knew, he knew she would yield. And he wanted her to, desperately. So desperately.

Then Allegra’s phone pinged with an incoming message and in a split second the mood shattered. She slipped away from him, taking her phone out of her clutch and then frowning as she looked down at the screen. A new, different kind of expectation tightened Rafael’s gut.

‘What is it?’

She swallowed audibly. ‘It’s a voicemail from the doctor.’

‘He called in the evening? While we were out?’ His voice was sharp and tense.

‘No, this afternoon. I missed the phone call and the voicemail just came in now.’ She slid him a quick, worried glance. ‘My phone’s old. The messages don’t always come in right away. I should have checked…’ He heard the recrimination in her voice, along with the fear.

‘What does he say?’

Allegra swiped a few buttons and then listened to the call. Rafael watched her face, noticing the way her lips pursed and her eyes clouded, pale red-gold brows drawing together.

‘Allegra…?’ he prompted when she ended the call. Everything in him felt coiled tight, ready to snap.

‘No real news.’ She let out a shuddering breath. ‘Just that the results from the amnio are in and he wants to discuss them with us tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.’

‘All right.’ They stared at each other, the weight of the information pressing down making it hard to breathe. The insistent desire Rafael had been feeling had vanished, leaving only cold trepidation in its wake. ‘At least then we’ll know.’ And then what? What would happen to their child, to them?

‘Yes.’ Allegra tossed her phone and clutch on a chair and wrapped her arms around herself. With her tumbled, fiery curls and her ice-blue gown she looked like a slender, burning flame, and Rafael wanted to wrap her in his arms, not out of desire now but to offer her comfort. The compulsion was so strong it felt like a pain, breaking open a scar deep inside him, a barely healed wound from when he hadn’t been able to help. To save anyone.

‘I should go to bed,’ Allegra said softly. ‘It’s late.’

‘Allegra…’ He wanted to say something of what he felt, desperately needed to offer her some comfort—and yet what comfort could he give? Tomorrow would bring whatever news it did, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

A shudder racked her body and it felt like a wound to his heart. He hated seeing her suffer, knowing she was afraid, just as he was. Then she lifted her head, regarding Rafael with tear-damp, pain-filled eyes. ‘Goodnight, Rafael,’ she whispered, and walked out of the room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ALLEGRA COULDN’T GET to sleep. She lay on her bed, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling, everything leaden inside her. It had been such a magical evening, going to the concert with Rafael. All night excitement had been fizzing like champagne through her blood, bubbles popping inside her head. The music. The mood. The moment when Rafael had looked so sexy and intent…and then the realisation, cold and hard, that this was all ephemeral and tomorrow reality would return with a dreadful thud.

She pressed one hand against the soft swell of her bump. Oh, baby. Stay strong. Be safe. Yet she knew it wasn’t in her baby’s power to be healthy. It wasn’t in hers either.

Around two in the morning she finally rose from bed, knowing sleep wasn’t going to come. She was planning to make herself a cup of herbal tea and then sit out on the terrace, watching the city settle down to sleep, but she stopped on the threshold of her bedroom door, for Rafael was sitting in the living room, dressed only in a pair of loose, drawstring pyjama bottoms, a tumbler of whisky cradled in his hands.

He looked up at her quick intake of breath, giving her a smile that was both sad and wry. ‘You couldn’t sleep either?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I was going to make some tea. I’d ask if you wanted some, but I see you’ve got something stronger.’

‘I need it.’ Rafael’s voice was hoarse, and pain flashed like lightning across his face.

It surprised her, because although Rafael was doing what he saw as his duty by her, Allegra had assumed, rightly or wrongly, that he didn’t really want this child. He’d said as much back in Rome, and he’d refused to talk about the what if? scenarios until they knew more. She realised she’d assumed he hadn’t really cared, not the way she did, and yet now, looking at the set of his jaw, the slump of his shoulders, she wondered if he shared her fear, her agony. If he longed for their child to live and be strong and healthy as much as she did.

In the kitchen she brewed a cup of chamomile tea and then brought it to the living room, curling up on the opposite side of the sofa from Rafael. He looked unbelievably sexy, stubble shadowing his strong jaw and the perfect, sculpted muscles of his chest on glorious display, a sprinkling of dark hair forming a V down to the low waistband of his pyjamas.

But Allegra wasn’t thinking about how handsome he looked. She was realising how sad he seemed, and it made her ache.

‘I’ve felt the baby kick,’ she said quietly. Rafael turned to look at her, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

‘You have?’

‘Just in the last few days. I didn’t know what it was at first. It feels like bubbles popping inside me. Little flutters.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But they’ve become a bit stronger in the last day or two, almost…almost as if the baby knows. As if he or she is telling me…’ She broke off, her chest tight with the force of her feeling, the strength of her emotion.

Rafael leaned closer, his expression intent. ‘Telling you what?’

‘Telling me that he—or she—wants to live.’ She scanned his face, looking for clues to how he felt, what this could mean—for both of them. ‘That this baby wants to live, no matter what.’

His expression was both intense and unreadable as he stared at her. ‘What exactly do you mean?’ he asked in a low voice.

Allegra let out a shuddering breath. ‘I mean that no matter what the results are tomorrow, even if we know this baby’s life is going to be short and hard, I want to keep him. I want to know this baby, I want to hold him, I want to love him. Or her.’ She let out a trembling laugh and brushed at her eyes. ‘I seem to be rather emotional lately. It must be the pregnancy hormones.’

‘I feel emotional,’ Rafael said, his voice hoarse. ‘This is hard, Allegra, and it might only get harder, for both of us…if you mean what you say.’

‘I do, and I know.’ But did she, really? The words were easy to say—sort of—but the actions that might test them in later months would be far harder. Was she strong enough? There was only one way to find out. ‘What about you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you…do you feel differently? Because I won’t hold you to anything, Rafael. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t even want a baby…’

‘I didn’t want you to be pregnant,’ Rafael corrected. ‘And I imagine you didn’t either. We were strangers, Allegra.’

‘We still are,’ she said softly.

‘But this child is real and growing and I want it as much as you do.’ He took a deep breath, meeting her gaze directly. ‘Do you honestly think I would leave you to cope with this alone?’ She was silent for a second, and he drew back, deep hurt scoring his face. ‘Is that the kind of man you think I am?’

‘I don’t know what kind of man you are,’ Allegra confessed. She knew she was hurting him with her words but she had to be honest for both of their sakes. ‘You left me once before, Rafael. You pushed me away, dismissed me out of hand. I’m scared…’ That you’ll do it again. She couldn’t say the words, admit so much.

Rafael’s mouth twisted. ‘We had a one-night stand, Allegra. I admit my exit lines could have used some work, but you can’t judge me by a single conversation.’

‘Or lack of conversation.’

‘If you are going to carry this baby to term,’ Rafael stated, ‘then I am staying with you. No matter what.’ His tone was flat and determined, unyielding as stone. Allegra didn’t know whether she should be heartened or alarmed by the strength of his conviction. Was this simply a matter of responsibility and duty, or the heart?

And what was this going to mean for both of them? For their future? She’d intended on going this alone, because that’s how she did everything. She didn’t want to invite someone into her life, someone who had the power to hurt her, who had already hurt her once before. And yet she couldn’t kick Rafael out either. He was this baby’s father. He had a say, a right, just as much as she did.

Allegra stared down into the fragrant depths of her tea, her emotions a tangled web of confusion, of opposite desires to stay strong, safe and alone—and to run straight into Rafael’s arms. To seek a comfort there that she didn’t even know if he could give.

Inside her their baby kicked, and with a tremulous laugh of surprise she pressed one hand against her belly. Rafael drew a quick breath. ‘Did you feel…?’

‘Yes.’ She looked up, a new shyness coming over her. ‘Do you want to…?’

‘Yes.’ His tone was heartfelt, emboldening her to reach over and take his hand, pressing it over her bump, their fingers interlaced. His palm was warm and strong and she liked the feel of it there. ‘Wait,’ she whispered, and they both remained still, holding their breaths, hoping…

And then it happened. A light kick, right into his palm. Rafael laughed, a sound of total joy. Allegra smiled, feeling tearful again. Everything about this was so much… Rafael, their baby, them.

Rafael kept his palm on her belly and their baby kicked again, stronger this time. He looked up at her, his smile now one of fierce pride. ‘He’s a fighter.’

‘It might be a girl.’

‘Then she is. I don’t care either way, boy or girl. I just want the baby to be…’ He trailed off, a confused torment creasing his features, and Allegra squeezed his hand.

‘Healthy,’ she finished softly. ‘I know.’ Wasn’t that what all parents said? I just want the baby to be healthy. The words sounded trite when you felt assured of the outcome. In this moment of terrible uncertainty they were painfully earnest, and yet it was the not knowing that drew them together, that made Allegra feel as connected to this man, or even more so than she had during that terrible, wonderful night in Rome.

They remained on the sofa, hands interlaced on Allegra’s bump, as minutes ticked past. Their baby kicked a few more times and then settled down, and after a while Allegra fell into a doze, only to wake when she felt Rafael scoop her into his arms.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep…’

‘You’re tired.’ His voice was gruff, a thrum in his chest as Allegra pressed her cheek against the steady and comforting thud of his heart. She felt so treasured and small in his arms, in a way she hadn’t felt in years, if ever.

Rafael carried her into her bedroom, depositing her gently down on the bed. Allegra looked up at him, still half-asleep, missing the feel of his strength and warmth all around her, barely aware of what she was doing and yet knowing she needed him now more than ever. And maybe, just maybe, he needed her as well.

‘Rafael,’ she whispered. ‘Stay with me. Please.’

A look of surprise flashed across his face and then Rafael slid into bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms, drawing her back against the solid wall of his chest so their bodies were like spoons in a drawer, fitting perfectly. With a sigh of contentment Allegra settled against him and drifted back to sleep. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but tonight she felt safe and happy and hopeful.

Rafael sat in the doctor’s office, Allegra looking pale and tired next to him, both of them incredibly tense. Now was the moment of reckoning.

Last night had been one of the most intimate and intense experiences of his life—first feeling their baby kick and then holding Allegra in his arms all night long. The ache of desire at feeling her body so tantalisingly close to his had been overwhelmed by the fierce need to comfort and protect her. She needed him, and he wanted to be needed. Wanted to provide for her what only he could.

But this moment, he acknowledged with painful certainty, was outside his control.

The doctor came into the room, her bland expression giving nothing away. ‘Miss Wells, Mr Vitali.’ She smiled at them both before sitting down at her desk. ‘I have the results of the amniocentesis, and there is good news and bad news.’

Allegra’s hand snaked out, searching for his. Her skin was icy cold as Rafael clasped her fingers between his own, trying to imbue her with his warmth, his strength. ‘Yes?’ he asked, wanting to hear the worst and get it over with. Once they knew they could figure out how to move forward. What to do, even how to feel.

‘Your baby does have a heart defect,’ the doctor explained gently, her smile seeming kind. ‘But it is not as serious as it first looked. We’ll need to do some tests, but I believe the condition is operable and there is every chance your child will live a full and healthy life.’

Rafael stared at her in shock, barely taking in the words. He’d been bracing himself for the absolute worst news and now he felt blindsided by this wonderful surprise. Next to him Allegra let out a small, soft sob and brushed at her eyes, clearly overcome.

‘What kind of heart defect?’ Rafael asked. ‘What kind of operation?’

Rafael and Allegra both listened as the doctor explained the situation. Allegra would need to have some tests done in the next week, but if all went well then her pregnancy could continue normally to term. She would be scheduled for a C-section to avoid the traumatic effects of labour and delivery on their baby, and then a few days after birth an operation would be performed to fix their baby’s heart. The recovery would take several months but then their baby would, God willing, be healthy and whole.

‘Besides the heart defect,’ the doctor continued, smiling, ‘your baby is perfectly healthy, and everything looks normal. Do you want to know the sex?’

Rafael glanced at Allegra, saw a shy hope lighting her features, making her look radiant. She nodded.

‘It’s a boy,’ the doctor said. ‘A healthy baby boy.’

A boy. Rafael’s mind was reeling with the news.

Instead of the baby most likely doomed to die that they’d both been expecting, the awful outcome that Rafael had been bracing himself for, they could hope to have a healthy child. A baby boy whose condition could be healed, who was going to live and grow and know him. A son. He was filled with an incredible, overwhelming joy, almost too great to contain, and then realisation slammed through him, leaving him breathless.

This changed everything.

Allegra walked from the doctor’s office in a daze of hope and incredulous relief.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ she said as they climbed into Rafael’s waiting limo. ‘Our baby is going to be healthy…’ Again she was both laughing and blinking back tears, overcome by it all as she had been in the doctor’s office.

It had been such an intense twenty-four hours, with the concert last night and then learning they would discover the amnio results today. And then those wonderful moments when Rafael had put his hand on her belly and felt their baby kick. Everything in Allegra had ached at the look on his face, and when he’d held her for the rest of the night she’d felt so safe and secure. She’d never wanted that feeling to end.

Since then she hadn’t let herself think about any of it or what it meant, because the doctor’s appointment had taken precedence. Now she glanced at Rafael and saw the frown that settled between his brows, noted the hard line of his mouth, and unease rippled through her.

She’d opened a part of herself to Rafael last night, had let him in, let him affect her, let him matter. All the things she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do. It had felt so right, but now she feared she was going to pay the price for her trust and need. And so she scrambled to erect some barrier, find that much-needed distance. And yet how could she, when their baby was healthy? When every emotion she had was scraped raw?

‘Rafael?’ she asked cautiously. ‘You…you are pleased, aren’t you? About the baby?’

‘Yes, of course. Pleased and relieved.’ He paused, swinging his hard, amber gaze towards her and pinning her with it. ‘But you realise, Allegra, how this changes things.’

It was more statement than question, and it made her blood freeze. The look on his face was hard and unrelenting. He looked as he had when he’d ordered her out of his hotel room, and she felt the way she had then, uncertain, vulnerable, confused. ‘What…what do you mean?’

Rafael’s gaze remained unyielding as he answered. ‘Before this news the situation appeared temporary. It had an ending point, sadly.’ His gaze flicked away from her to the window where traffic streamed by in a blur of colour and sound. His jaw hardened, his profile reminding her of a Roman statue, perfect and cold. ‘Now the situation is ongoing and permanent, and that changes things between us, naturally.’

Allegra swallowed hard. Yes, she understood that. Now they would have a healthy child together, a child who would, God willing, live to adulthood. A child they would somehow have to raise together, because it was obvious Rafael wanted to be involved. And Allegra wanted him to be involved. She knew the searing loss of a father. She wouldn’t subject her child, her son, to it, if she didn’t have to.

And yet…how was this going to work? What was Rafael saying?

And what if he walked away from her and her son, just as he had before?

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly, ‘we’ll have to come to some arrangement.’ Surely they could, although right now she could not imagine what kind of custody arrangement would actually work. She was in New York and Rafael lived in Sicily. They could hardly pass a baby between continents like some parcel, and she wouldn’t want that anyway. Anything else, however, was unthinkable.

‘Arrangement?’ Rafael swung back to subject her to a cold stare. ‘I am not interested in arrangements.’

His eyes resembled shards of glittering amber as he kept his gaze on hers. ‘I… I don’t understand,’ Allegra said, although she was afraid she was beginning to. Here was the ruthless man who got what he wanted, who took over a failing company, who kicked a woman to the door. Here was the father of her child.

‘I’m not going to be fobbed off with some custody agreement,’ Rafael stated. ‘I would not wish such a thing on any child, and certainly not mine. I’m not going to be satisfied with weekends or holidays, an evening here or there.’

‘I think you’re being extreme,’ Allegra protested. ‘Plenty of children have divorced parents and they grow up well adjusted and happy. We can find a way forward that suits us both…’

Rafael arched an eyebrow. ‘Was that your experience?’

She bit her lip, caught by the admission. ‘That was different.’

‘How?’

‘Because we wouldn’t be getting divorced. Our child wouldn’t know one thing and then have to learn another. There wouldn’t be a sense of loss, because it would be how it always was, our son’s normal.’

His lip curled. ‘My lack of involvement would be normal?’

Allegra looked away. ‘Why does it have to be your lack of involvement? Surely we can work something out.’

‘How? You live in New York and I live in Sicily. A baby’s place is with his mother, I recognise that. So what happens? I get our son when he’s two or three? Four? Five?’

‘No.’ The word was torn from her, trembling and indignant.

Rafael gave a nod of cold satisfaction.

‘You wouldn’t want that either. You don’t want to share our child, and neither do I.’

Realisation crept coldly through her, a seeping mist obscuring rational thought. She understood what he was saying, and yet… ‘Then what are you suggesting?’ she forced herself to ask.

‘I want to be involved in our son’s life, Allegra,’ Rafael stated. ‘Completely involved. You cannot deny me that. You will not.’

Allegra stiffened, hearing an implied threat in the words. ‘And if I do?’ she dared to ask.

‘Do not even think of it.’ Rafael’s voice was a low thrum of grim intent. ‘You do not want to experience the full force of my anger and power.’

‘Wow.’ She let out a shaky laugh, amazed and horrified at how they’d got to this place. Last night he’d held her so tenderly, she’d been halfway to caring about him. Trusting him. Today he was the merciless stranger who had kicked her out of his bed. There was a lesson to be learned here. She’d thought she’d learned it already, but it seemed she hadn’t taken it in, not fully. ‘You’re bringing out the big guns, aren’t you? And I thought I’d felt your anger and power once before.’

‘Not even close,’ Rafael answered coolly. ‘Trust me.’

Never. The limo had pulled up to the hotel. Allegra gazed at the elegant building overlooking Central Park, and felt as if she were about to enter a prison, one to which Rafael held the keys. She couldn’t go inside, not willingly.

‘We can discuss the necessary arrangements,’ she told Rafael in as dignified a tone as she could manage. ‘Of course I want to accommodate you as best as I can. I want our baby to have an involved father as much as you do. A completely involved father. We can work something out, Rafael. I know we can.’ A bellboy came forward to open her door. ‘But I also want to return to my life,’ Allegra said as firmly as she could. ‘My apartment, my job. Now that we know things are okay there’s no need for me to stay here.’ And she could use some distance from Rafael and his autocratic commands, his unsettling presence. She moved to get out of the car and Rafael stayed her with one powerful hand encircling her wrist, the proprietary touch shocking her.

‘You don’t understand, Allegra,’ he informed her in a lethal tone. ‘You’re not going back to your apartment or your job or even your life. As soon as possible you’re coming to Sicily to live with me…as my wife.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALLEGRA STOOD IN the centre of their hotel suite, her whole body trembling. As his wife? The words he’d spoken moments ago in the limo reverberated through her. With no choice but to get out of the car and deal with this head on, she’d stalked up to their suite and then turned to face him, every atom of her being radiating outrage. Shock. Fear. Rafael, on the other hand, looked cool, calm and completely in control.

It was impossible. He was impossible. How could he issue such an outrageous command without batting an eyelid? Even now Rafael was shrugging off his jacket and heading for his laptop, as if it were a normal business day. As if their whole world hadn’t shifted on its axis.

‘Rafael.’ Her voice trembled along with her body. ‘You can’t… I can’t…’

He didn’t even look at her as he answered, ‘You can and you will.’

‘Just like that?’ Her voice rang out. ‘You want me to leave everything and marry you? That was your proposal?’

Irritation flickered across his face as he turned to her. ‘Don’t be melodramatic.’

‘Don’t be insane,’ she snapped, well and truly angry now. Anger felt better and stronger than the fear that surged right beneath it. Because even now she was afraid Rafael would win. He was richer, stronger, more powerful. And so far he’d achieved everything he’d wanted. Nothing stood in his way, and yet Allegra clung to her ground. She had to, because the alternative… ‘I’m not marrying you.’

Rafael regarded her levelly for a long, tense moment. Then he shrugged and went to sit down on one of the plush sofas. ‘Fine, let’s talk about it. What are your alternatives, do you suppose?’

On shaky legs Allegra moved over to the sofa opposite him and sat down. ‘To stay in New York and live my life.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Working in a café for most likely little over minimum wage, and living in a studio flat in an insalubrious neighbourhood?’

‘It is not insalubrious,’ Allegra snapped. ‘For heaven’s sake, talk about being melodramatic.’

‘I am not having my child raised in a near-slum.’

All right, maybe her street wasn’t the fanciest in Manhattan, but it was hardly a slum. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’ In all sorts of ways.

‘And I think you’re being ridiculous,’ Rafael countered coolly. ‘What about your job, Allegra? How do you propose to continue working with a newborn baby, one that will have particular and crucial needs at the start, and maybe after that as well?’

‘I’ll take time off, naturally.’ She lifted her chin, determined to remain strong. Defiant. She’d meet every challenge he threw at her.

‘And do you get maternity benefits with your job? Proper healthcare coverage?’ He sat back against the sofa cushions, the twist of his mouth belying the dangerous emotion she saw sparking in his eyes. Despite his level tone, his reasonable demeanour, she had the feeling that he was angry. Very angry.

He was also right. Her job provided healthcare, but it wasn’t the best coverage and she wouldn’t get much time off after their son was born, plus she couldn’t afford the kind of childcare she knew she’d need. All things she hadn’t yet had time to think about, much less sort out. She looked away, silently fuming, saying nothing.

‘You clearly haven’t thought this through, Allegra. Unless you intended to rely on your mother’s scant generosity?’

‘No.’ The word was squeezed out of her throat. She hadn’t thought through all these details, at least not enough, mainly because she’d just been trying to struggle through her pregnancy.

And now, thanks to Rafael, she had to think about them immediately. Allegra took a deep breath, trying to steady her jangling nerves. ‘I’ll admit there are some difficulties,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘But that doesn’t mean the only other option is living in Sicily as…as your wife.’ A blush swept over her entire body at that thought. Marriage. In all the possible scenarios she’d envisioned, that one had never even crossed her mind. Yet Rafael now seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion.

‘Then name one option that would be acceptable to us both,’ Rafael stated.

‘I can’t,’ Allegra retorted, ‘because you’re being so unreasonable.’

‘I’m being unreasonable?’ Rafael leaned forward, his tawny eyes glittering. ‘What if you are the one who is being unreasonable, Allegra? You seem to think it is your right not to have to make any changes or adjustments to your life circumstances for the sake of your child. Is that reasonable?’

‘I didn’t say—’

‘You want to stay in your tiny apartment, walking up and down six flights every day?’

‘Plenty of women—’

‘Where would you even keep a stroller? Or a cot? That place is minuscule. There isn’t room for a baby, and you know it.’

Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. ‘I could get a bigger apartment, then.’

‘Can you afford it? Or are you expecting me to pay for it—to fund your freewheeling lifestyle while I take whatever scraps I can? What do you think is going to happen?’ Rafael demanded, his voice like the lash of a whip. ‘I fly over to New York for occasional visits? I don’t get to know my son until he’s school age? Impossible. I refuse.’ He glared at her, his whole body radiating both determination and rage. ‘That is not how I intend to be a father.’

Allegra glared back at him, caught between misery and fury. All right, yes, she saw there were problems with her unthought-out plan. Of course she did. But she hated being railroaded into a huge decision, with Rafael expecting her to acquiesce instantly. Marriage…she’d never considered it. Never wanted to be that close to a person, that vulnerable—and why would Rafael?

But of course that wasn’t the kind of marriage he was talking about. Even so Allegra couldn’t countenance it. Couldn’t let Rafael have that much power over her. Because, she knew, it would be power. Already he affected her too much. Made her want too much.

‘You’re not being fair,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m only four and a half months pregnant, and I’ve barely been able to keep a mouthful of food down until this last week. I’m sorry if I haven’t worked out every last detail of my plan yet. And anyway,’ she added, her voice rising, ‘I didn’t even know you were going to be involved at all until a few weeks ago.’

‘Which begs the question why didn’t you tell me,’ Rafael returned, clearly unmoved by her words. ‘I asked you specifically to tell me if you were pregnant. I told you I wanted to be involved in my child’s life. And you chose to ignore me.’

‘You also booted me out of your bed,’ Allegra returned. ‘Is that the kind of man I want in my child’s life?’

‘Now you have no choice.’ Angry colour appeared in slashes on Rafael’s high cheekbones. ‘And no matter how I treated you on that night, Allegra, you had no right to deny me my child. There is a world of difference between ending a one-night stand rather abruptly and refusing me access to my son.’ His jaw was bunched, his mouth a hard line. ‘Even you should acknowledge that.’

Allegra stared at him, chilled to the very bone by the dangerous glitter in his eyes, the harsh, implacable certainty in the set of his features. The man who had treated her so tenderly, who had cradled her last night was gone. Vanished, as if he’d never been, and perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps that Rafael had been no more than an expedient mirage. She knew what it was like for people to change. To show their true colours.

‘And yet you want me to marry you,’ she stated shakily. She felt sick and dizzy, her skin clammy and cold. All the relief at their son’s good health had drained away, leaving a dark-edged terror in its wake. The future loomed, menacing and more and more certain. Rafael would not be dissuaded.

‘Marrying me is the sensible option,’ Rafael answered. ‘The only option. I want to be involved in my son’s life, Allegra. Completely involved. He’s my heir—’

‘Your heir? It’s not as if you’re some king,’ she interjected. Rafael’s gaze narrowed.

‘I am CEO of a multi-billion-euro empire. I intend to pass that on to my son, raise him to follow me into what would become a family business. He is my heir, and he is going to be raised in Sicily by both his parents.’

Staring at him, seeing how utterly implacable he looked, Allegra realised how trapped she really was. Rafael had all the power, all the money. If he wanted to—and at this point she wouldn’t put it past him—he could use the force of his influence to take complete custody of their child. She could resist all she wanted or dared, but she’d still lose in the end. Maybe even lose her own child.

She pressed her hands to her temples, a crashing headache beginning its aching pulse. ‘I need to think,’ she muttered. ‘And I need to lie down. I’m tired, and not everything is certain, Rafael. The doctor said I’d have to undergo some tests later this week.’

She rose from the sofa, stumbling slightly, and in one quick, fluid movement, Rafael rose to grasp her arm and steady her.

‘Rest is a good idea,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll make you some herbal tea to help settle you. Chamomile is what you like, isn’t it?’

She glanced up at him in confused disbelief. Who was this man? ‘Don’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t be horrible one moment and kind the next. I don’t understand it. I can’t take it.’ Not again. With what felt like superhuman effort she shook off his arm and walked alone to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Rafael stared at the closed door and swore under his breath. That had not gone as he’d hoped or wanted. Yet what else could he have done? He wasn’t going to negotiate, not about something as important as this. He certainly wasn’t going to settle for some custody arrangement. And trying to woo Allegra with false words and oozing sentiment had felt like a waste of time and, well, wrong.

When he’d learned their child would be healthy all his protective instincts had risen to a clamour inside him. He needed Allegra and their son with him. He needed to be in control. He needed to make sure nothing went wrong. Things would be different this time. He would be different. But first he had to get her to agree.

Impatient and yet resolute, Rafael stalked to the kitchen and switched on the electric kettle. He’d make her the promised cup of tea, at least, to show he wasn’t a complete boor.

But when he tapped on Allegra’s door and the quietly opened it, he found she was already fast asleep, her Titian hair spread across the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek, golden-red lashes feathering her pale cheeks. She looks so vulnerable and lovely it made something in him twist and tighten, and he promised right then that he’d make it up to her, to them. They could make this work. They would.

Several hours later Allegra opened the door to her bedroom and appeared, yawning and sleepy. Rafael turned from where he’d been trying to do work on his laptop and mostly failing.

Now he tried for a neutral expression as he watched her stretch, the thin T-shirt pulling across her breasts. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, surprisingly. I didn’t realise quite how tired I was.’ She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, her hair tumbling about her face in corkscrew curls, her face now set in serious lines. ‘You asked me what my life would look like if I stayed in New York,’ she said as she curled up on the sofa opposite him and took a sip of water. ‘So now I want to ask you the same thing. What would my—our—life look like if I come with you to Sicily?’

Relief and hope expanded in his chest, made his head light. She was going to agree. He kept his expression steady, his voice mild as he answered. ‘We would live on my estate in the mountains above Palermo. It is spacious and comfortable, with every luxury to hand. A large garden, a pool, every amusement for a growing little boy.’

Allegra nodded slowly, looking less impressed than Rafael had expected or wanted her to be. ‘And what about schooling?’ she asked. ‘When the time comes? And friends?’

‘Of course those as well,’ he answered. ‘There are plenty of good schools in the area and if we could not find one that was to our satisfaction, I would be willing to consider other options.’

She arched a delicate eyebrow. ‘Such as?’

Rafael shrugged, his mind racing. He felt that Allegra was looking for something from him and he didn’t know what it was. ‘We could relocate, within reason. To Rome or Milan, perhaps. I have offices in both cities.’

‘Or New York?’

He hesitated, sensing a test. ‘The majority of my business is in Europe,’ he said finally. ‘A relocation to New York is not out of the question for some time in the future, but not now.’

She nodded, her lips pursed, and Rafael waited. ‘What about me?’ she finally asked. ‘What would my life look like in Sicily, Rafael?’

He hesitated, wanting to say the right thing—but what was it? ‘You will need for nothing,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Clothes, jewels, whatever you like. They’re yours.’ Her mouth twisted and he realised he’d said the wrong thing. Allegra had not been particularly impressed or even interested in clothes or jewels, as far as he could see. So what did she want?

The women he’d dallied with in the past had been only interested in material possessions, a diamond bangle, a funded shopping spree in a designer boutique, but he knew Allegra was different. ‘And of course you can make the house your own. Decorate it as you wish. Garden…’ What else might she want to do? ‘Music,’ Rafael said at last. ‘You can have your own music room. Play as much as you want. Host concerts, even.’ He was practically babbling, and was irritated with himself for being so pathetically eager. She regarded him quietly, saying nothing, offering no encouragement.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you want?’ Rafael bit out. ‘Instead of looking disappointed because I can’t read your mind?’

She flinched at his tone and he silently cursed himself. What did she want from him? He could give her everything. Everything but love. Rafael stiffened, appalled at the thought. Was that what Allegra was holding out for? Some ridiculous, romantic fairy-tale? Surely not.

‘I don’t know what I want, Rafael,’ Allegra said quietly. ‘This is all so unexpected. I haven’t had time to process any of it properly. I’m still reeling from the news about the amnio results.’ She let out a weary sigh. ‘I know you don’t want to, but please give me a little time to catch up.’

‘Fine.’ He bit the word out, still tense. ‘But I do need to return to Palermo as soon as possible.’

‘Then maybe you should return and I’ll come later,’ Allegra countered. ‘Why must we rush things? We could at least get to know one another first…’

‘With me in Palermo and you here? No.’ Rafael shook his head, resolute. She would just find an excuse to stay in New York. The thought, stupidly, hurt. ‘I want you where I can see you, Allegra. Where I can protect you and take care of you and our son.’ His voice thickened, much to his shame. ‘That is important to me.’

Her expression softened as her silvery gaze swept over him. ‘You have far more of a protective streak than I ever realised.’

‘I do. I don’t want to let you or our child down.’

‘And you’re afraid you will?’

‘No.’ He rose from his desk, determined to end this conversation. It had all got stupidly emotional, and he hated that. He didn’t do emotion. It was for the weak. He’d learned that to his eternal cost with his father, when he’d goaded him with his childish complaints. When he hadn’t been able to stop what had happened next. Enough. There was nothing to be gained by thinking of that now. ‘I will never let that happen, Allegra. At least in that, you can trust me.’

Allegra sat down across from her mother, her expression resigned and set.

‘You’re what?’ Jennifer Wells screeched.

‘I’m going to Sicily,’ Allegra answered. ‘With the father of my child.’

‘But you don’t even know him.’

‘I know he’ll take care of me and our son.’ That was at least one aspect of Rafael’s character that she was sure of. It had been three days since Rafael had issued his ultimatum, and Allegra had spent those days thinking long and hard about her future. Their future. When the further tests with a neonatal cardiologist had revealed the extent of their son’s heart defect, which wasn’t as simple as they’d hoped but still within the realm of good news, her choice felt even more limited.

She couldn’t do this alone. She’d lived most of her life in determined independence, chosen isolation, loneliness, but she couldn’t do this by herself, and she didn’t even want to. But even more importantly she didn’t want Rafael or her son to miss out. She’d been denied her father’s presence in her life from the time she was twelve. Could she wilfully deny her son the chance to know his father, and Rafael the chance to know his son?

It would be the height of selfish cruelty to choose self-preservation over her family. Because it was a matter of self-preservation. Rafael held a power over her, one she didn’t fully understand. She was attracted to him physically, of course, but she’d felt stirrings of something even deeper. When he held her…when he’d felt the baby kick…if she let herself, she could start to care for him, and that would be a disaster. Because there was every chance Rafael would walk away from her as her father had. But he wouldn’t, she prayed, walk away from their son.

And so she’d told Rafael she would go to Sicily, but she wouldn’t marry him—not yet, anyway. They needed to get to know one another before she made actual vows, agreed to that level of commitment. To her surprise, Rafael had acquiesced. Tersely, but still. She’d been half expecting him to frog-march her down the aisle.

Then yesterday she’d gone to her apartment and packed up what she’d wanted to take, which had been surprisingly little. Looking around the tiny space, she wondered at how she had ever thought she could have managed there with a baby. And yet how she was going to manage in this strange new life in Sicily? So much was unknown.

‘I can’t believe you’re doing this, Allegra.’ Jennifer’s voice rang out in censure. ‘This stranger…running away with him? Have you thought this through at all?’

‘Yes, and it makes sense,’ Allegra answered. ‘Considering the alternatives.’ She felt weary right down to her toes, and tomorrow evening they were leaving for Palermo. She’d already handed in her notice for her job, said goodbye to Anton, who had been her friend and boss for nearly ten years. He’d kissed her on both cheeks with tears in his eyes.

‘Is Vitali being…difficult?’ Jennifer asked after a moment. She looked on edge.

‘Pragmatic,’ Allegra said, even as she wondered why she was being loyal to Rafael. Perhaps because, in his own hard way, he was being loyal to her. And whether she liked it or not, they were a family now. ‘As am I.’

‘You remember what I told you about his father?’ Jennifer said, and now she sounded diffident.

‘He did business with my father and it didn’t work out, you said.’ But it was more than that. Blood on his hands. What had happened? How much did it matter? She couldn’t ask Rafael now; things between them were tense enough.

‘Yes, and your father didn’t trust him.’ Jennifer expelled a breath. ‘I don’t know the details, of course, but there has to be a reason for that. I got the sense that there might have been something…’ She paused, pursing her lips. ‘Criminal involved.’

‘Criminal?’ Allegra stared at her, appalled by this new revelation. ‘What do you mean exactly?’

Jennifer shrugged, her gaze siding away. ‘I don’t really know, but soon after they did business Vitali went broke. He lost everything, and narrowly avoided prison. That’s…that’s all I know. Perhaps it’s better buried in the past.’

It was more than Allegra had ever known, and underscored how little she knew Rafael or his history. How little he’d told her. She’d have to ask sometime, and while she didn’t look forward to that conversation, she needed to know what she was getting into. What their child was getting into. She needed to trust Rafael…yet how could she, when she didn’t know him? When she didn’t like to trust anyone?

‘That might be so,’ Allegra told her mother, ‘but Rafael has his own business and I really don’t think it involves any criminal activities.’ At least she hoped not.

‘But you can’t be sure.’

‘No.’ She couldn’t, Allegra knew with a pang of true fear, be sure about anything.

CHAPTER NINE

ALLEGRA GAZED OUT the window of the passenger jet at the hard blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and tried to bolster her courage as well as calm her seething nerves. They were due to land in Palermo in less than an hour, and after a sleepless night in the first-class cabin she felt exhausted and overwhelmed.

‘Do you need anything?’ Rafael asked as he looked up from his tablet where he’d been scanning the morning news. ‘Herbal tea? A hot compress?’

‘I’m fine.’ He’d been all solicitousness for the flight, but it was a formal, distant concern that set Allegra’s nerves on edge. She felt like his patient, or perhaps his possession. Maybe both. And she was conscious, more than ever, of how much she’d left behind. Her job. Her life. Freedom and independence.

‘How far is your villa from the airport?’ she asked, and Rafael put his tablet aside.

‘About an hour. A limo will pick us up.’

She nodded, gripping the armrests, wishing she felt more at ease. More confident that she was doing the right thing. She’d be living in the lap of luxury after all. Rafael had promised her just about anything she wanted. And yet…he could be such a hard man. Even when he was being kind there was a distance to him, a remoteness that made her uneasy. And she knew no one in Sicily other than him. Their baby wasn’t due for over four months. What would she do all day? Could she be happy?

‘Please don’t worry,’ Rafael murmured, resting one long, lean hand on top of hers. ‘It will all be fine.’

Allegra nodded again. Rafael squeezed her hand, and the simple touch had the power to affect her, reminded her that despite all their differences they did have chemistry. Chemistry Rafael no doubt expected them to act on…but when? She couldn’t even begin to think about that. Sex seemed like an impossibility, although the doctor had, with a smile and a wink, given them the all-clear.

‘There’s no reason,’ he’d said, looking at them both, ‘why you can’t have a normal pregnancy from now until your delivery…and a normal sex life.’

Allegra had blushed and stared down at her lap. Rafael had said nothing. She had no idea what to expect from him, from anything, and it made her feel uncertain. Vulnerable. Which was a feeling she hated.

‘Please prepare for landing.’

Allegra put her seat up as the steward went through the cabin and the plane began its descent. Below she could see Sicily spread out in a living map: dusty, rocky hills and towns with red-roofed buildings that looked as if they were clinging to the mountainside. It was unfamiliar and yet it struck a chord, reminded her suddenly and sweetly of her childhood in Italy. A soft sigh escaped her and Rafael gave her a sharp look.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I was just thinking about when I lived here. That is, in Italy.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘It feels like a lifetime ago.’

‘You lived in Rome?’

‘I lived in Rome during the school year,’ she answered, ‘and spent summers at our estate in Abruzzi. I loved it there.’ The land had been harsh and rugged and unrelentingly beautiful, snow-capped mountains piercing a brilliantly blue sky. She’d loved the quiet, the sense of solitude and stillness and peace. It had spoken to her shy, solitary spirit.

‘You missed it?’ Rafael asked after a moment.

‘Yes, especially because my first year in New York was so awful.’ She shook her head at the memory, her mouth twisting.

‘What was so awful about it?’

‘Everything. My English was terrible, and the school was big and rough—I felt lost. I was teased too, but it helped when I kept myself to myself. Then I was just invisible.’

Rafael frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun.’

‘No, but I’ve always liked my own company.’ She paused. ‘It’s easier, isn’t it, not to depend on anyone? Not to care.’

Rafael didn’t respond, merely frowned and looked out the window. Allegra wondered what he was thinking and decided not to ask. Better not to share any more feelings than she already had.

The plane touched down with a bump, and for the next hour they were kept busy clearing Immigration and collecting their luggage.

By the time Allegra slid into the limo she felt exhausted, and although she’d meant to take in the scenery on the drive to Rafael’s estate, she ended up falling asleep as the limo climbed narrow, twisting roads, making the steep ascent into the mountains.

When Rafael nudged her gently awake she discovered she was lying on the seat, her head in his lap, her cheek resting on his powerful thigh. Rafael’s hand rested lightly on her hair. It felt wonderful and alarming at the same time, and she scrambled up to a sitting position as quickly as she could. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled as she pushed tangled hair away from her eyes. She felt thick-headed, her body clock completely out of synch, and she had a feeling she looked like a disaster. ‘I didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep.’

‘You were tired. We’re here now, and after the doctor checks you out you can have a proper rest.’

Allegra looked at him in confusion. ‘The doctor?’

‘I’ve put a doctor on retainer for the duration of your pregnancy. He’s living in one of the estate’s cottages. It seemed sensible, considering the remoteness of our location. Of course, Palermo’s emergency medical facilities are less than an hour away, and I have a helicopter on the estate.’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘But the doctor in New York said my pregnancy was normal, Rafael. This seems a bit excessive.’ Which was massive understatement. She didn’t need a doctor on call, surely. And yet Rafael looked obdurate.

Rafael flicked a glance at her. ‘There is no harm in taking precautions. You want what’s best for our son, don’t you?’

Once again he was playing that trump card. Allegra decided not to argue. She was too tired, and she supposed there was no reason to mind having a doctor around.

Rafael opened the door to the limo and ushered her out, one hand resting on her elbow as he guided her towards the villa. Allegra paused on the portico, breathing in the warm, fir-scented air as she took in the curving drive that snaked through dense trees, the rolling, rocky hills visible beyond.

She turned to the house, a sprawling and imposing villa of weathered stone, its double doors of ancient, scarred wood now flung open. A smiling, red-cheeked woman, her greying hair piled on top of her head in a round bun, gave them both a wide smile while next to her a tall, lanky man nodded and bowed.

‘This is Maria and Salvatore, my housekeeper and groundsman,’ Rafael explained to Allegra. He spoke in Italian, which he hadn’t done with her all the time they’d been in New York, and even though it was her native language, after so many years in America it took Allegra a moment to make the adjustment.

Maria came forward, exclaiming about her bump, and then kissed her soundly on both cheeks. Salvatore bowed again. The exchange heartened Allegra, and made her feel a little less alone.

‘Now is not the time for a tour,’ Rafael said. ‘Since you are tired. I’ll show you your room and then summon the doctor.’

‘I’m fine…’ Allegra protested, because now that she was here she wanted to explore. From the soaring foyer she could see a comfortable-looking lounge with huge sofas in cream linen and French doors overlooking a terrace. On the other side she saw the cheerful yellow walls of a large kitchen, and another set of French doors leading to what looked like a large vegetable garden. All of it made her want to see and know more. She felt the stirrings of excitement, which was a welcome change from all the apprehension.

‘You need to rest,’ Rafael said, clearly brooking no argument, and with his hand on her elbow he guided her up the curving stairs to a large bedroom. While he went to fetch the doctor, Allegra explored the room—it was every bit as luxurious as the one she’d enjoyed in the hotel back in New York.

There was a huge king-sized bed on its own dais, a massive fireplace that would make the room cosy in winter, and wide windows whose shutters were open to the tumbling gardens below. She rested her elbows on the stone sill as she took in the infinity pool sparkling under the sunlight, and the tangle of bougainvillea and hibiscus that covered the steep hillsides. The air was warm and dusty, scented with rosemary and pine. She felt as if she’d stumbled into paradise.

‘The doctor will examine you now.’

Allegra turned to see a stern-looking, white-haired man with an old-fashioned black bag standing in the doorway, and her heart sank. Determined to be as accommodating as possible, she submitted to a battery of routine checks while Rafael watched.

‘I really am fine,’ she said as the doctor tucked his stethoscope away. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Well?’ Rafael turned to the doctor for his verdict, and Allegra gritted her teeth. Since when had she become incapable of speaking for herself?

‘She’s a little dehydrated,’ the man said. ‘And she needs some rest.’

Rafael nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He turned to Allegra once the man had thankfully left. ‘I’ll have Maria bring up some water. You should drink at least two glasses.’

Allegra folded her arms. ‘I’m capable of making my own decisions, Rafael.’

His mouth thinned as he arched one dark eyebrow. ‘You are fighting me on this small matter?’

‘Yes, because you’re treating me like an idiot. I don’t need to be fussed over by a doctor every moment.’

‘I simply wanted you to be checked out after our travel. What is the problem?’

She stared at him, frustrated, because he made it sound so reasonable. It was his attitude she didn’t like, the high-handed way he dealt with everything. With her.

‘The problem is you’re being aggravatingly bossy.’

‘I am caring for our child.’

‘Which is very important to you, I know. I get that, trust me. But you can’t…you can’t be in control of everything.’

Rafael bit back a response and then looked away. ‘This is important to me, Allegra,’ he said after a moment. ‘I don’t want to fail in my duty as a father. Please…indulge me.’

A bleak look had come into his eyes, and it made her wonder what hidden hurts Rafael was keeping from her. Or was she just being fanciful, and he was simply an arrogant, autocratic, domineering man? From the obdurate look on his face Allegra knew she’d get nowhere pressing the point now.

‘Fine, I’ll indulge you,’ she said wearily. ‘At least in this.’

Several hours later she woke from a deep sleep and stretched languorously. Long, golden rays of late afternoon sunshine slid across the floor. She’d been asleep for hours, so clearly she’d needed the rest.

Allegra got out of bed and went to explore the huge en suite bathroom, enjoying the enormous marble walk-in shower. Dressed in a strappy sundress, her hair damp and curling about her shoulders, she headed downstairs in search of Rafael.

She didn’t find him, but she did see Maria in the kitchen, and the housekeeper bustled around to have Allegra sit at the round kitchen table and then plied her with iced tea and fig cookies.

‘Something smells delicious,’ Allegra said.

‘Ah, it is a welcome feast for Signor Vitali and his lovely lady,’ Maria said with a smile. ‘It has been a long time since I have been able to cook so much!’

‘Is it?’ Allegra nibbled a cookie, wondering how much she could press the housekeeper for information. ‘Has Rafael not had…guests here before?’

Maria gave her a shrewdly knowing look. ‘Signor Vitali has never had anyone here before. He has always been a very solitary man. Salvatore and I have served him for more than ten years.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He worked so hard, he had little time for anything else.’ She nodded meaningfully towards Allegra’s bump. ‘Perhaps now that will change.’

‘Perhaps.’ Although Rafael had certainly immersed himself in work since he’d come back into her life. Despite his insistence that he wanted to be an involved father, Allegra wondered if he simply wanted to be in control.

Replete with cookies and tea, she wandered out of the kitchen to explore the villa—and find Rafael. She discovered the lounge she’d seen earlier and a media room with a huge flat-screen TV and a state-of-the-art sound system. A dining room with a table that easily seated twelve was empty, as was a smaller room with a cosy table for four. She slipped through the French windows onto the terrace that overlooked the infinity pool, breathing in the scents of bougainvillea and rosemary. The sun was setting, painting the sky with livid violet streaks, and she heard birds chirping in the tall, stately firs that surrounded the villa on most sides, the mountains towering above them.

But where was Rafael—and why did she want to find him so badly? Perhaps he intended for them to live separate lives here in Sicily, a prospect that filled her with a treacherous disappointment. She wanted to know what their future was going to look like…and, she realised, she wanted to know Rafael. It had been all right to maintain a holding pattern while they’d waited for the amnio results, but now they were meant to have some kind of life together. Rafael was insisting they marry, and while that prospect still filled her with fear, it also made her want to get to know the man she might be spending the rest of her life with, at least a little. So where was he?

Maria had started to serve dinner in the smaller dining room, several fragrant dishes that made Allegra’s mouth water. Then she noticed the place setting for one.

‘Is Rafael not eating?’ she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

Maria made a face. ‘Signor Vitali said he needed to work tonight.’

So the feast was for her alone. Allegra sat at the table and nibbled course after delicious course, feeling sorry both for herself and for Maria, who had gone to so much effort for her employer. Why had Rafael refused to come down for dinner? Surely his work couldn’t be that important. Was he avoiding her on purpose, setting the pattern for their married lives?

Loneliness swamped her at the thought. Already she was losing that sense of independence she’d maintained for so long. She wanted Rafael with her, needed his presence in a way that made her feel unsettled. She wasn’t used to needing people. Depending on them. Perhaps it was better this way…except it didn’t feel better.

At the end of the meal she took her decaf coffee out onto the terrace, curling up on a lounger as she watched the stars appear in the sky, like diamond pinpricks in a bolt of black velvet. He was avoiding her, she acknowledged with leaden certainty. He had to be. To absent himself all afternoon and then through the evening… He was telling her how he intended things to be, and Allegra didn’t like it. If he was going to leave her alone, she might as well have stayed in New York.

She liked it even less when she woke up the next morning to an empty-feeling house. Maria was in town at the market and Salvatore was outside, working in the garden. Rafael was nowhere to be found.

She decided to go for a walk—only to be told, regretfully, by Salvatore that Signor Vitali had forbidden her from leaving the formal gardens, as the mountainside was steep and dangerous. Allegra looked at the high stone walls, the whole world shimmering out of reach, and realised she was truly trapped.

She stalked inside the villa, fury rising in her like a tidal wave. So she’d been brought to this beautiful estate to be kept as a prisoner. She didn’t know what hurt most—Rafael’s controlling attitude or his deliberate absence. She stewed for most of the morning while Rafael kept his distance, and then finally she’d had enough. She’d find him, and, by heaven, she’d tell him what was on her mind.

‘Where is Signor Vitali?’ she asked Salvatore, who looked shocked by her strident tone.

‘He is working…’

‘Where?’

‘In his study, but he does not wish to be disturbed.’

‘Perhaps he needs to be disturbed,’ Allegra answered. ‘Could you please tell me where his study is?’

‘I don’t think—’

‘Tell her, Salvatore,’ Maria said quietly, coming into the room behind Allegra. ‘She is carrying his child. She deserves to talk to him. And Signor Vitali…he needs company too.’

With a shrug of his thin shoulders Salvatore pointed upstairs. ‘The top floor. A room on its own.’

Allegra stalked upstairs, her anger giving her a boldness she hadn’t known she’d possessed. A narrow, twisting staircase at the end of the corridor led to a single room on the villa’s top floor, its heavy, oak door shut fast. She knocked on the door hard enough to bruise her knuckles.

After a pause she heard Rafael’s gruff voice. ‘Salvatore?’

‘No. Allegra.’ She turned the handle, gratified when it opened, and walked into the room.

Rafael’s study was spacious, with wide windows on three sides offering stunning views of the mountains. A huge mahogany desk took up the centre of the room, and Rafael sat at it, his eyes narrowed, his mouth compressed.

Allegra planted her hands on her hips as she faced him. ‘If I’d known you were going to imprison me here, I wouldn’t have agreed to come.’

‘Imprison?’ Rafael arched one eyebrow. ‘I’d hardly call this a prison.’

‘I’m serious, Rafael. Since we’ve arrived you haven’t shown your face once—’

‘I have much work to catch up on.’

Allegra hesitated for a second, wondering if she was overreacting. Wondering why she wanted his company so much, why she felt so hurt. Then she took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘So why can’t I even take a walk?’

Rafael’s nostrils flared. ‘These are simply measures to ensure your safety.’

‘I’m not made of glass,’ Allegra burst out. ‘I’m not going to break.’

For a second Rafael’s face contorted, and then he looked away. ‘You don’t know that,’ he said quietly. ‘Anything could happen, Allegra.’ His voice went hoarse. ‘Anything.’

Allegra stared at him in confusion, her heart twisting at the look of bleak despair on his face. ‘Rafael…’ she asked softly. ‘What is it that you’re so afraid of?’

‘I’m not…’ he let out a shuddering breath, wiping his hand over his face ‘…losing you. Losing our child.’ He turned away, dropping his hand, the set of his shoulders resolute once more, that brief glimpse of raw vulnerability gone. ‘We came close to losing this baby, Allegra, or at least thinking we were going to lose it. Him. I don’t ever want to feel that again.’

She stared at him, wishing she understood more. Wishing she knew how to reach him. ‘You can’t control everything, you know,’ she said quietly. ‘You can’t prevent accidents from happening, or just life. I need to live, Rafael—’

‘You are living,’ he cut her off dismissively. ‘Enjoy the villa and all it has to offer. Lounge by the pool.’

‘I don’t want to spend every day lounging.’

His expression closed up. ‘I really do not know what you are complaining about.’ And with that he angled his body away from her, pulling a sheaf of papers towards him. So she was being dismissed, like some unruly servant. He wouldn’t even look at her any more. This was how Rafael dealt with people. He wasn’t overprotective, he was compulsively controlling. And it hurt to realise she was just a cog to him, something to move and manipulate accordingly. Stupidly it hurt, because she hadn’t wanted to let herself care. Yet here she was, caring. Hurting.

She stood there for a moment, watching him work, seeing the way he’d completely blanked her out. It was as if she no longer existed. His gaze didn’t flick to her once.

She felt the fury rise again, but with it something far worse. Despair. She couldn’t fight this. Arguing with Rafael, just trying to have a reasonable discussion with him, was like battering her head—her heart—against a brick wall. Because now that she was here, now that she’d come into his life and brought him into hers, she wanted more than this. And she had no idea how to get it.

Without a word she turned on a heel and left his study, slamming the door behind her. The loud thwack as it crashed against the doorframe was satisfying even though she knew the gesture was pointless and childish.

She walked downstairs, fury still pounding through her, along with the despair. She wrenched open the French doors to the terraced gardens, causing Maria to bustle in from the kitchen, her expression alarmed.

‘Signorina—’

‘I’m just going for a walk.’

Maria frowned. ‘Signor Vitali—’

‘I don’t care about Signor Vitali.’ Allegra cut her off, wishing it were true, and she walked out of the house.

CHAPTER TEN

FROM THE WINDOW of his study Rafael watched Allegra stride through the gardens, her entire body rigid with affront. He fought the urge to run after her, insist she return to the villa. Keep her safe. He couldn’t control everything, but he’d damned well try. The alternative was unthinkable.

His gaze narrowed as he saw Allegra make her way through the garden to the latticed gate in the high stone wall. He’d forbidden her from leaving the formal gardens, didn’t want her to navigate the steep and rugged mountain terrain surrounding the estate. Cursing under his breath, he saw Allegra wrench open the gate and then stride through the forest, swallowed up by the trees and the dark.

He waited an hour before he went out looking for her, just to show how reasonable he could be. A tense, endless hour when his mind raced with worst-case scenarios and he did his best to stave off the panic he felt skirting the edges of his mind, blurring rational thought. Memories danced like shadows in his mind, of his mother, his sister, his father. Their faces, their words, closed doors, shattered hope.

With a muttered curse Rafael flung open the door to his study. He yanked on a pair of hiking boots and headed outside, the air hot and dusty and dry, the sun beating hard on his head. She shouldn’t have been out in this heat. He didn’t even know if she’d put on sunscreen. And what about a sunhat and proper walking shoes? What if she’d tripped or fallen? His stomach clenched hard and he tasted the metallic tang of fear as he followed her path through the gate, picking up her trail through the broken ferns and grasses along the mountainside. With each step his anxiety grew and his fists clenched at his sides. He felt deep in his gut that something was wrong, that something had happened on his watch. Again.

For a second he could see his mother’s empty eyes, his sister’s wasting body. His father…

Dammit, he couldn’t keep opening the door to all that remembered pain. What was it about Allegra that brought it to the surface? He needed to lock that door tightly, so tightly, before the memories surged around him and he drowned.

He’d been walking for about fifteen minutes, calling Allegra’s name, his voice starting to grow hoarse with panic, when he saw her. She was crumpled up at the bottom of a large boulder, one leg awkwardly angled beneath her, her head lolling back. Her eyes were closed but they fluttered open as Rafael ran towards her, cradling her head in his lap as he said her name over and over again, tears of grief and self-recrimination springing to his eyes.

Her eyes fluttered open and fastened on his. ‘Next you’re going to handcuff me to my bed,’ she murmured. Her face was pale and waxy with a pearly sheen of perspiration but her tiny smile made Rafael’s heart turn over. ‘Just spare me the I-told-you-so, please.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Rafael demanded, his hands shaking as he ran them lightly over his body, looking for bruises or broken bones.

‘My ankle,’ Allegra answered on a shuddery sigh. ‘It’s not broken. At least, I don’t think it is. But I tripped on that stupid rock and went sprawling.’ She pressed one hand to her bump, her voice trembling and her face crumpling as she added, ‘I think the baby’s all right.’

Rafael’s insides felt icy as he bundled her in his arms. She felt light and precious, a treasure he wanted to cling to for ever. The mother of his child. ‘Let’s get you home,’ he said, and, scooping her up, he started back towards the villa.

The trip back to the villa was a blur; Allegra curled into Rafael, resting her cheek against the hard wall of his chest, taking comfort from the steady thud of his heart. The last hour she’d spent trapped in the woods, the trees dark and menacing all around her, her ankle throbbing, had been truly awful. She’d been afraid for their baby, afraid for herself, and she’d cringed to think of what Rafael’s reaction would be. Yet it wasn’t her freedom or lack of it she was worried about, she realised—it was Rafael. Something was driving him to act in so domineering a manner, something dark and desperate, and she feared in her impetuous folly she’d made it much worse.

To his credit, Rafael didn’t lambast her then. He treated her tenderly, carrying her through the woods, and then calling to Maria to bring cool cloths and compresses and tea as soon as they arrived back at the villa.

The doctor came and looked her over, pronouncing the baby well, the steady thud of his heart on the Doppler wonderfully reassuring. Her ankle was sprained and the doctor bound it up and then gave her strict instructions not to put any weight on it for at least a week, which would undoubtedly please Rafael.

After the doctor had gone Allegra fell asleep, grateful to retreat into oblivion for a little while. When she woke up Rafael was sitting by her bed, his head in his hands, his long fingers driven through his dark, unruly hair. The sight of him looking so exhausted, so unguarded made her heart squeeze in a way she wasn’t used to. A shaft of yearning pierced her sweetly, although what she wanted she couldn’t say. To comfort him, perhaps—but would Rafael even accept her comfort? What was between them now? What could be between them?

‘Hey.’ Her voice sounded scratchy and she licked her dry lips. She must have become a bit dehydrated out in the hot sun.

Rafael looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening at the sight of her. ‘You’re awake. Here.’ He reached for a pitcher of iced water and poured her a glass, holding it to her lips.

‘Thank you,’ Allegra murmured, and drank. She scooted up in bed, pushing her tangled hair out of her face as she noted the haggard lines of his face, the bleak set of his mouth. ‘I’m okay, Rafael,’ she said quietly, and to her shock his face crumpled almost as if he might weep. ‘Rafael…’ she whispered, reaching out one hand, and even more to her shock he took it, his fingers interlacing with hers.

‘But you could have so easily not been.’ His voice was a ragged whisper as he clung to her hand.

‘I behaved foolishly,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Rafael shook his head, the emotion reined in now but still visible in the lines of strain on his face. ‘I am the foolish one. You wouldn’t have gone off like that if I hadn’t driven you to it. If I had been more reasonable.’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself…’

‘But who else am I to blame?’ Rafael returned starkly. ‘I am responsible for you, Allegra, and for our child, whether you like it or not. I cannot shirk or ignore that responsibility. I did once before and I will never do so again.’

‘When…?’ The word was a breath of sound. She realised she wanted, needed to know what drove Rafael. What made him the man he was. She wanted to know so she could understand him, but also so she could comfort him. So she could help. The strength of her own feeling surprised her, but she didn’t back away from it. This was too important. They were too important. At least she hoped they were.

‘My mother,’ he said after a moment. ‘My sister, in a different way.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I lost them both, when it was my sacred responsibility to care for them. I failed them, failed my entire family.’ He looked away, blinking fast. ‘If I seem too controlling, it’s because I can’t contemplate the alternative.’

Allegra felt tears sting her eyes at the pain she saw in Rafael’s face, heard in his voice. She didn’t understand everything but she knew he was hurting. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, reaching up to brush her hand against his cheek. ‘For all you’ve suffered.’

Rafael closed his eyes, leaning into her brief caress, and then he pulled away. Opened his eyes and didn’t look at her. ‘In any case,’ he said, a stiffness entering his voice, ‘I will relax some of the measures I put in place.’

‘That still makes me sound like a prisoner.’

‘You’re not a prisoner.’ Now his tone was touched with impatience. Their moment of bonding was well and truly over. ‘You’re living in the very lap of luxury. I hardly see any reason to complain.’

Allegra tried to tamp down on the frustration she felt rising again. ‘Don’t do that,’ she pleaded.

Rafael looked startled. ‘Do what?’

‘Change. One minute you’re all solicitude and tenderness and the next you’re acting as if you can’t spare two minutes to talk to me. It makes my head spin. And it reminds me—’ She broke off, biting her lip, and Rafael’s eyes narrowed.

‘Reminds you of what?’

‘My father,’ she said after a moment. She leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. If he’d shared something of his past heartache, then so could she. ‘My father because…because after he divorced my mother I never saw him again, as you know.’ Her throat thickened and she swallowed hard. ‘And before the divorce…he loved me. He acted like he loved me, anyway. He called me his little flower. He tickled me, he tossed me in his arms, he gave me presents and tucked me in at night…’ She gave a trembling laugh and brushed at her eyes. ‘To have his love, to feel so important, and then to be cut off completely…it was awful, Rafael. The worst thing that ever happened to me.’

‘The loss of a father is a very hard thing,’ Rafael said after a moment.

‘How did you lose yours?’

‘He… An accident.’ He looked away. ‘A terrible accident.’

Allegra wanted to ask more, ask about the history between their fathers, but in that moment she didn’t dare.

‘Your father left you that necklace in his will,’ Rafael said after a moment. ‘He must have cared, at least a little.’

‘Yes, but I don’t even know why he gave it to me.’ Allegra smiled sadly. ‘There was a note…he asked for my forgiveness, saying he’d cared more for his reputation than for me. But I don’t understand that at all.’

‘Who can say?’ Rafael answered. His voice was guarded, his jaw bunched. Allegra wondered what he knew and wasn’t telling. Or was she being paranoid?

‘I keep telling myself he really did love me. He must have loved me, but something happened…something that made him act the way he did, cutting us off. But I can’t imagine what it was.’

‘And I remind you of him.’ Rafael sounded cautious and diffident, and realisation scorched through Allegra.

‘Only because you keep changing,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s not as if—You don’t need to worry, Rafael, I’m not going to fall in love with you or something like that.’ She felt herself blush hotly as Rafael jerked back, almost as if she’d slapped him. Clearly the prospect of her falling in love with him was horrifying. Allegra rushed to fill the ensuing taut silence. ‘I’m not looking for love,’ she hastened to explain. ‘I’m not interested… I mean, any…relationship between us wouldn’t have to have that. I wouldn’t want it to have that. I want us to get along, of course, but… I’m not looking for love, not from you, not from anyone.’

She finally, thankfully, managed to make herself stop speaking. Rafael had sat back in his seat, his expression terrifyingly inscrutable.

‘Why not?’

‘Because love hurts,’ Allegra said simply. ‘Doesn’t it? To let someone matter that much to you. To let them hold your heart…because hearts can break.’ She let out a shaky laugh. ‘I sound fanciful, I know, but the truth is I don’t believe that old adage about it being better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’

‘So you’ve never been in love? Romantic love?’

‘No.’ She drew a quick breath. ‘Surely you realised that, considering…considering I was a virgin.’

‘There’s a difference between sex and love.’

‘Yes.’ Although for her she wasn’t sure there was. Her one experience with sex had been far too intense and emotional.

Rafael fastened his resolute gaze on her. ‘In any case, we will have a proper marriage.’

A flush swept over her at the thought of what a proper marriage would look like. Feel like. Could she keep herself from loving Rafael, loving the tender, caring man he could be when he wanted to, if she gave her body to him again and again? ‘I haven’t actually agreed to marry you,’ Allegra reminded him.

‘Yes, but it’s only a matter of time. For our son’s sake, Allegra.’

He was so aggravatingly arrogant. Allegra closed her eyes, overwhelmed by it all. ‘I asked you to give me time to get to know you,’ she said. ‘And for you to get to know me. But we can hardly do that when you hide away in your study all the time.’

‘I’m not hiding,’ Rafael snapped.

Allegra opened her eyes. ‘Rafael, as soon as you’d brought me here you disappeared. I don’t care how busy you are, that’s just rude. And cowardly.’ His eyes flashed fire and Allegra wondered if she’d gone too far. ‘Let’s just spend some time together.’ Surely there was no real danger in that.

Rafael was starting to look seriously uncomfortable. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

‘An hour or two every day,’ Allegra returned. That felt safe. ‘Meals spent together. Evenings…some conversation. We had a little bit of that in New York, didn’t we?’ A very little. ‘But you need to stop avoiding me.’

‘I’m not avoiding you. I am a busy man.’

‘Well?’ Allegra pressed, not to be dissuaded. As nervous as she was, she knew she wanted this. ‘That’s all I want, I promise.’

He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. ‘That’s all? Are you sure?’

Allegra’s breath caught because she recognised the look of ferocious intent in his eyes. Of course she did. She also recognised the hot swirl of longing she felt unfurl inside herself, a languorous warmth that was lazy and urgent at the same time, wrapping her up and making her want. Him.

She licked her lips, her throat and mouth turning dry. ‘I’m… I’m not ready for that yet, Rafael.’

‘The doctor said it was safe.’ His gaze roved over her, assessing, probing, demanding.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ He leaned back in his seat, the heat in his eyes turning to a slow simmer. ‘But think about it, Allegra. It could be very enjoyable for us both. It will be.’

‘I… I know.’ She had no doubts on that score. How could she, when the memory of their one night together still had the power to scorch her? And yet…the memory of the awful afterwards had the power to scorch as well, in an entirely different and unwelcome way. Things had changed between them since then, but Allegra still didn’t trust Rafael—not in that kind of situation anyway. And, she acknowledged, she didn’t trust herself.

Rafael’s mouth curled in a lazy smile as his gaze raked over her once more. ‘Let me know when you are ready. It will be soon, I think.’

She looked away, unable to stand the heat of his gaze. ‘I will,’ she answered shakily, and then wondered just what she had promised.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RAFAEL STARED UNSEEINGLY at the screen of his laptop as Allegra’s words ricocheted around his head, as they had been for the last three days, since she’d said them. You don’t need to worry, Rafael, I’m not going to fall in love with you.

Words that should have filled him with sweet relief—and they did. Of course they did. But they’d surprised him too, because he hadn’t expected such cold, clear pragmatism from her. Allegra was sensitive, emotional, romantic—whether she realised it or not. And yet she’d stated very clearly, with great certainty, that she would never love him. That she couldn’t. What the hell did that mean anyway? Was that because of her—or him? Because he wasn’t worth loving?

It was a question he hated asking, much less answering. It was a foolish, romantic question not worthy of his time. He should be thankful that his wife-to-be was so sensible. So like-minded. Moodily Rafael shut his laptop and gazed out the window of his study instead.

It was a day of lemon sunshine and blue skies, and he was tired of spending it inside. Tired of mulling over everything Allegra had said.

In the three days since their conversation he’d made an effort to spend more time with her. It wasn’t always easy, and their conversations were sometimes stilted and jarring, but he had to admit to himself he actually liked being with her. Enjoyed hearing her clear, crystalline laugh, seeing her infectious smile. She’d had much sorrow in her life, but she was made for joy. Joy he wanted to give her, whether it was a gift or a touch…or more. But did she want to receive it? Receive him?

Why was he thinking like this?

The sound of crunching gravel had Rafael rising from his seat. A delivery van was approaching the front of the villa, and he knew what it held. A smile touching his lips, he headed downstairs.

‘What is all this?’ Allegra asked as the delivery man began bringing in boxes.

‘Your things,’ Rafael said simply. ‘I had everything shipped from your apartment.’

‘You did?’ She looked flummoxed.

‘Did you think we would leave it behind?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I did. I knew you were terminating the lease on my apartment.’

‘But I thought you’d want your things around you.’

‘I do. Of course I do.’ She shook her head slowly, smiling at him with a pure radiance that felt like a spotlight on his soul. ‘You can be so thoughtful sometimes, Rafael. Thank you.’

‘Only sometimes?’ he teased. Their banter felt new and fragile, but kind of wonderful too. Allegra’s smile deepened.

‘Definitely only sometimes,’ she teased back. ‘But your rate is improving.’

He laughed, and with all of the boxes brought in Allegra began to open them, exclaiming over everything like a child at Christmas. ‘My books…my cheese plant!’ She looked up at him with laughing eyes, making something in Rafael’s chest expand. ‘I’ve had this thing for years, you know.’

‘It looks like it needs a little water,’ Rafael said, and took it from her. ‘It’s been in a box for days.’

‘Everything came so quickly.’

‘Expedited shipping.’

‘That must have cost a fortune!’ she exclaimed, and he shrugged.

‘I can afford it.’

He took the cheese plant to the kitchen and when he went back to the lounge, Allegra was sitting on the sofa, her cello case in front of her, a thoughtful look on her face. She almost seemed sad.

Rafael propped his shoulder against the doorframe, watching the way her face softened as she opened the case and stroked the buttery-soft wood of the instrument.

‘How long have you had that cello?’ he asked quietly, and she looked up, blushing at being caught out.

‘Since I was nine. My father bought it for me.’

‘Did he?’ Rafael said quietly.

‘Yes…he loved to hear me play.’ She let out a soft sigh. ‘Even when I wasn’t very good, sawing away at it. He’d always clap and say “Bravo.”’

‘Perhaps you’ll play for me sometime,’ Rafael said, and saw her eyes flare in surprise. Then she shook her head with sorrowful but firm decision.

‘No, I can’t.’

Rafael tried to hide the expression of affront and even hurt he feared was on his face. ‘I see,’ he said, unable to keep his tone from turning cool.

‘I haven’t played in almost ten years,’ Allegra explained. She rested her hand on the cello. ‘Not since I was eighteen.’

Intrigued, Rafael straightened. ‘Why not?’

She shook her head, her eyes downcast, and he didn’t think she was going to answer. ‘Because when I was eighteen I auditioned for Juilliard,’ she finally admitted on a little sigh. ‘Or I should say I tried to audition.’ She kept looking downwards as she continued, ‘I’d sent an audition tape, and I was invited in for a live audition, which felt huge. It was my dream, to play music. I’ve taken lessons since I was a small child.’ She bit her lip, and Rafael held his breath, waiting.

‘It was a big step for me, to send the tape in. I know it might not seem like much, but I was so shy, especially after…well, after my parents’ divorce. Music was a personal, even sacred thing to me. It still is.’

‘So what happened?’ Rafael asked. He felt anxious on her behalf, wanting to hear a happy ending to the story, even though he knew there wasn’t one.

‘I froze.’ She let out a shaky laugh. ‘I got there and I couldn’t play. It was as if I was paralysed. I literally couldn’t do it. The examiners were kind at first, but then they were impatient, and then I was dismissed. And that was that.’

‘But why haven’t you played since then?’

‘I just couldn’t. It’s as if… I don’t know. I just lost it. The desire as well as the ability. If I played now you’d probably cover your ears.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Rafael said, meaning it utterly.

Allegra stroked the cello again and then closed the case. ‘Anyway, silly as it seems, I still like having my cello, so thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Rafael was silent, trying to sift through his emotions—the sorrow he felt for the shy, vulnerable young woman Allegra had been. Empathy, because her father had turned on her just as he’d turned on Rafael’s father, his father, and just as with his father, his family, that rejection had had consequences. Protectiveness, too—because he never wanted her to feel that kind of anxiety again. And lastly, stronger than either of those two, desire, different and deeper than any he’d known before. He wanted her to play again. He wanted her to play for him.

But what on earth made him think he deserved such a privilege?

The next week passed in a lovely haze. Allegra felt herself relaxing into everything, especially the time she spent with Rafael. While he still spent a fair amount of time in his study, or going to Palermo on business, he made an effort to make time for her.

One afternoon when Allegra’s ankle was feeling better they walked into the nearby hill town to shop at the market. Allegra enjoyed the simple pleasure of inspecting fat, red tomatoes and juicy melons while Rafael followed behind her, a wicker basket looped over one arm.

The ancient, cobbled streets were charming, and the view of the twisted olive trees and dusty valleys below truly magnificent.

Rafael suggested they have a picnic, and so they bought salami and bread, cheese and olives and grapes, and took it all to a stretch of grass overlooking the valley.

‘This is wonderful,’ Allegra said as she stretched out on the grass and Rafael fed her bread and cheese.

‘As long as you don’t get sunburned.’

‘Don’t fuss,’ she chided gently, because she knew Rafael was trying, and it tugged at his heart. At moments like this, with everything relaxed between them and the sun shining benevolently above, she felt a marriage between them could work. Maybe it could even be wonderful.

Was she falling in love with him?

The question reverberated through her. When Rafael was kind and gentle and tender, she felt it would be easy to fall in love with him. Easy and amazing. But what if he changed? He had before, and she didn’t know whether she could trust him yet. More and more she realised there were reasons Rafael acted the way he did—reasons he hadn’t shared with her yet. Although they’d talked about many innocuous things, he hadn’t spoken again of his family, and she hadn’t asked.

Now, lying on the grass, feeling sleepy and secure, she decided to broach the topic. ‘Rafael…what happened between your father and mine?’

Rafael tensed, his gaze turning guarded. ‘Why are you asking that now?’

‘Because it seems important. And because the more time we spend with each other, the more I want to have no secrets, no hidden things.’

Rafael was silent for a long moment. ‘And if you don’t like the answer?’ he finally said, his voice toneless, his gaze shuttered.

Allegra felt the first stirrings of unease. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Because your father treated mine unfairly. Very unfairly.’

Already she was prickling. ‘How do you know—?’

‘I know.’ His gaze was opaque as he turned to look at her. ‘But even that much is hard for you to hear.’

‘Yes…but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.’ Allegra took a deep breath. ‘I know he wasn’t perfect. Of course I know that. Look how he treated me.’

‘Yet you’re still protective of him.’

‘I never wanted to hate him.’ She looked away. ‘Maybe because I always hoped he’d come back. But he won’t now, and I want you to tell me. Please, Rafael.’ She held her breath, waiting, and finally Rafael spoke.

‘Twenty years ago our fathers were in business together.’

‘The mobile technology you mentioned.’

‘Yes. Your father provided the science, my father provided the parts. They were partners, friends.’ He paused, his expression still shuttered, although Allegra heard the emotion in his voice. Felt the tension in his body next to hers.

‘And what happened?’

‘Someone embezzled a great deal of money from the company account. Your father blamed mine.’

She searched his face, looking for clues. ‘But you don’t think it was him?’

‘I know it wasn’t,’ Rafael returned swiftly. ‘I know. But your father insisted he had it on good authority, and he let it be known my father was a cheat, even though he couldn’t prove it. No one would do business with him any longer. Within months he was ruined, and we were destitute.’

Shock sliced through her, and for a moment she struggled with what to say. How to respond. ‘That’s why you bought out the company.’

Rafael’s mouth firmed. ‘Justice was served.’

She sat up, hugging her knees, her mind still spinning. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?’

‘I didn’t know if you would believe me. And,’ Rafael admitted, ‘I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew you loved your father, even if that love was misplaced. Things didn’t feel strong enough between us…’ He paused, searching her face. ‘Do you believe me?’

‘Yes,’ Allegra said after a moment. ‘I do.’ And she ached for all Rafael and his family had endured. ‘But I also believe that my father must have genuinely thought your father was in the wrong. I don’t think he would have acted in such a manner without good cause.’

Rafael made a sound of disgust. ‘And do you still think he abandoned you with good cause, Allegra? Why can’t you see the man for what he is? Was?’

She recoiled, shocked by the vitriol in his voice. ‘What does it matter to you if I choose to believe he was a good man?’ she demanded stiffly. She felt hurt, and she wasn’t even sure why. ‘Why can’t you let me love him still?’

‘Because in my mind he is a demon,’ Rafael returned flatly. ‘And I will never forgive him.’

They didn’t talk all the way back to the villa. The last few days had been so lovely, so promising, and now it all felt flat and strained. Over the last few days she’d actually been starting to care about Rafael. She still cared, which was why their argument hurt so much. And, Allegra acknowledged that evening as she lay in bed unable to sleep, it hurt because she know there was truth in Rafael’s words. Why did she have to believe her father loved her, when everything pointed to the opposite? Why did she cling to that frail, pointless hope?

Sighing now, Allegra shifted restlessly in bed. The baby kicked, and she placed one hand on her bump, taking comfort from those fluttery movements. Tomorrow they were going to Palermo for a scan, and she was looking forward to the reassurance of an ultrasound, that lovely whoosh of their son’s heartbeat filling the air.

But tonight she wasn’t thinking about their baby. She was thinking about them.

The sudden, soft strains of music floating from downstairs made Allegra still in her restless movements. It almost sounded like…

Holding her breath, she rose from her bed and slipped on the silky wrap that passed for a dressing gown in this hot weather. Even at two in the morning the air inside the villa held a remnant of the day’s heat, although the tiles were cool under Allegra’s bare feet as she made her way downstairs, following the haunting strains of the cello she heard.

Downstairs all was dark save for a single lamp burning in the lounge. Allegra hesitated on the threshold of the room; she saw Rafael sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his button-down shirt several more buttons open than usual. His hair was rumpled and a tumbler of whisky dangled from his fingertips.

‘It’s Shostakovich,’ Allegra said softly, and he glanced up, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He was, she realised, a little drunk.

‘The third movement of the cello sonata,’ he agreed. ‘It reminds me of you.’

It was the piece they’d listened to before they’d made love. Allegra was jolted to the core by the fact that he was listening to it now—that he’d remembered, that he cared. ‘Why do you need reminding?’ she asked softly. ‘I’m right here.’

‘Are you?’ The question hung in the air between them, hovered like a ghost. Rafael gave her a long look before he glanced away, taking a large swallow of his drink.

‘Is this about this afternoon?’ Allegra asked after a moment. ‘Our argument?’

‘What do you mean, this?’

‘You’re sitting downstairs, listening to sad music and drinking whisky.’

Rafael looked away. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘I couldn’t either.’ She paused, then decided to up the ante, even if part of her shied away from being so vulnerable. Admitting so much. ‘The truth is, I think you’re right, at least partly. I want to believe my father still loved me because the alternative…’ She stopped, catching her breath, her heart starting to thud. Confessions like this were hard. ‘The alternative is he didn’t love me, and that means… I’m unlovable.’

Rafael lifted his head to skewer her with a burning stare. ‘You are not unlovable, Allegra.’

‘My own father?’ She tried to keep her voice light but it trembled. ‘Come on. Parents love their children. That’s a given.’

‘Maybe your father was incapable of love.’

‘You really think he was a monster,’ Allegra said slowly. Rafael didn’t answer. She stared at him, trying to divine something from the resolute, almost resigned set of his features. ‘I don’t want this to come between us, Rafael. Whatever happened…it’s in the past. Let’s leave it there.’

‘You were the one who wanted to know.’

‘And now I do.’ She drew a quick breath. ‘Is there anything more? To know?’

A pause, infinite, endless. ‘No,’ Rafael said finally. ‘Nothing important.’

Allegra supposed she should feel relieved but she didn’t. She felt anxious and also sad because, whatever Rafael had just said, she sensed that there was still something he was holding back. She could see it in his face, the set of his shoulders. He was carrying a world of sorrow, and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t know how to comfort him. But she wanted to.

‘Our son is kicking,’ she said softly. She pressed both her hands against her bump, laughing a little as their baby kicked against her palm. ‘He’s a fighter for sure. He’s kicking me right now.’ She looked up at him, a tremulous smile curving her lips. ‘Do you want to feel him?’ He hadn’t felt their baby kick since that night after the opera. They’d barely touched at all since then. It felt like a lifetime ago.

‘Yes.’ The single word was certain and utterly heartfelt. Rafael tossed his empty glass onto the table before rising from his chair and coming across the room to kneel in front of her. The warm wash of light caught the bronze strands in his dark hair, the glint of stubble on his jaw. Allegra held her breath, conscious of his closeness, his heat, the yearning inside her to reach him, comfort him. She touched his hair, threading her fingers through its softness, drawing him closer to her.

Slowly Rafael slid his hands along her bump, the warmth of his palms seeping through the thin silk of her nightgown and dressing gown. ‘You’re bigger,’ he said softly. ‘Even in just a few weeks.’

‘He is growing,’ Allegra answered with a little laugh. ‘And I’m eating better.’

‘You’re beautiful,’ Rafael answered, his tone almost fierce. ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as you—as this.’ His palms curved around her belly, cradling their unborn child. Allegra’s heart bumped unsteadily as desire and something deeper flooded through her.

And then their baby kicked, a sharp flutter, almost making her wince. Rafael laughed aloud. ‘That was him.’

‘Yes.’

‘It feels so strong. Stronger than before.’

‘Yes, he’s quite a kicker.’

‘He needs to be strong. He needs to be a fighter, with what’s ahead of him.’ Allegra thought of the planned surgery, the frightening uncertainty amidst the longed-for news—and the knowledge, sweet and sure, that Rafael would be by her side for all of it. Dependence—trust—could be a wonderful thing.

‘Yes. We all have to be strong,’ she whispered.

‘It will be all right, Allegra.’ Rafael’s hands continued to cup her belly as he looked up at her, his gaze burning and intent. ‘I’ll make sure it will be all right.’

Tenderness flooded through her at his fierce expression. She knew he meant every word, and while the future held no promises or guarantees, she believed him. She believed in him, in his sincerity, and that faith compelled her to touch her hand to his cheek, her fingers smoothing across the gentle abrasion of his stubbled jaw. ‘I know you will, Rafael.’

A brighter light blazed in his eyes and he turned his face so his lips brushed her palm. A shudder went through Allegra; her body shook with the force of it, and her breath came out in a ragged gasp. To be touched again, and so sweetly, so tenderly…

‘Rafael…’ His name slipped from her lips, and then he opened his mouth and sucked on the tip of her thumb, and her whole body twanged like a bow that had been beautifully plucked. Around them the music swelled, a crescendo of sound to complement the one of sensation Allegra could feel inside her, building, building…

Rafael let go of her thumb to turn back to her, and Allegra didn’t know who moved first. With his hands on her belly and their baby between them their bodies bumped together, mouths clashing, hands tangling. The kiss went on and on, desperate, urgent and hungry, a symphony whose notes played their sweet music through her body.

Rafael’s hands went from bump to her hair and then to her shoulders and breasts, touching her everywhere, and yet it wasn’t enough. She needed him, needed now more than ever to feel the closeness, the connection she’d felt once before. And she thought he needed it too.

Then he pulled away, just a little, but it was enough to make her cry out with the loss of it, of him.

In the shadowy light from the lamp she saw his face, his expression resolute, ready, eyes like fire, a silent question waiting for her yes.

She placed one trembling hand against his chest, felt the steady, comforting thud of his heart. Pressed. Rafael glanced down at her hand, fingers spread out, seeking. He covered it with his own. They remained like that for a suspended second, everything about to tumble into free fall.

And then he bent his head, his lips a whisper away from hers, still waiting for her response. Her yes. And she gave it, leaning forward to kiss him deeply, her hands tangling in his hair, the action a promise, a vow.

He tensed under her hands and mouth, his body like a bow while she was the strings. And then the music began, a glorious symphony, as his hands came up to grip her shoulders hard and his mouth opened under hers, turning her whisper of a kiss into a shout, a plea, a demand—she answered all of them with her mouth, her body, her heart. An offering of everything she had.

His mouth moved on hers as he propelled her across the room and then up the stairs; she stumbled on a step and with a muffled groan against her mouth Rafael scooped her up into his arms, drawing her against his chest. Allegra nestled there, feeling both precious and small, as Rafael carried her easily up the stairs and then down the hall to the master bedroom.

He put her down gently, steadying her as she swayed against him. The room was dark, moonlight spilling through the latticed shutters over the window, and they stood there for a moment, silent, breathing, his hands on her arms.

Allegra couldn’t see the expression on his face but she felt the emotion thrum through him as he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

‘Are you sure?’

Everything so far had been a resounding and overwhelming yes, and yet still he asked. Allegra placed one hand on his cheek, her thumb smoothing the line of his jaw, learning him, letting him know how sure she was. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Yes.’

He didn’t ask again. He simply pulled her towards him, his smile gleaming whitely in the dark, and then her clothes fell away; she kicked off her pyjama shorts as Rafael slid her T-shirt over her head.

His breath hissed between his teeth as he looked at her, and Allegra didn’t feel self-conscious or big with her belly on display. She didn’t feel vulnerable or exposed. Under the heat of his gaze she felt only beautiful.

His hands followed his hot gaze, smoothing over her dips and curves, learning the feel of her with slow, thorough deliberation. She shivered under his touch, his fingers sending sparks along her skin, and then she grew bold enough to touch him, hands flat upon his chest, fingers spreading and seeking the sculpted ridges of his muscles.

‘I like that,’ Rafael whispered. He remained still under her questing fingers, and with shaking hands she slipped the first shirt button from its hole, and then another and another, until his chest was bare and she was pushing his shirt off his bronzed shoulders, revelling in his body, satiny skin over hard muscle. She hadn’t touched him very much that first night. She’d been too overwhelmed by it all, both the pleasure and the grief. Now she revelled in the hot, silky feel of him, running her hand across his chest, down to his abdomen, fingertips brushing the waistband of his trousers.

Rafael let out a groan and Allegra laughed softly, amazed at how she was able to affect him. Now she felt powerful as well as beautiful.

‘You were beautiful before,’ he murmured as he reached for her, hands cupping her breasts, thumbs sliding across their aching peaks. ‘And you are even more beautiful now, carrying my child.’

‘You make me feel beautiful,’ Allegra whispered, and then he was bending his head and Allegra slid her fingers through his hair as his lips sought and found her, causing a lightning bolt of pleasure to blaze deep down inside.

He scooped her up again—she felt boneless, weightless—and carried her to the bed. Deposited her on top of the duvet, the silk cover slithering and sliding underneath her. He shucked off his trousers and boxers, leaving her breathless. She’d seen him naked before but the sight still overwhelmed and undid her. He lay next to her and drew her into his arms, their bodies bumping and touching in all sorts of places, making her shudder. It felt so much. She’d known it would; it was why she’d resisted this before, because the intensity felt exquisite and painful at the same time, and she had to brace herself for the tidal wave, to keep herself from falling, drowning.

She’d been telling herself he wouldn’t feel the same way, that sex wasn’t as important or sacred for him, but in that moment as his fingers touched her face and his body arced into hers she believed it was. He couldn’t touch her like this, give of himself like this, without it meaning something. She felt it in his kiss, in his gentle hands, in the love he lavished on her body, finding and plundering all of her secret places.

And then—yes, finally—he was inside her, so big and right she gasped out loud and he lifted his head, his gaze blazing down into hers. ‘Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?’

She clasped her legs around him, pulling him deeper into herself, accepting him fully, feeling complete. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘I’m…’ But she had no words, because the feelings were coming faster and stronger now, wave after wave as Rafael began to move and Allegra matched his rhythm, reaching, reaching…

And finding. Finally, gloriously finding, her body shuddering with the force of her climax, Rafael’s face buried in her neck as he murmured words of endearment and promise, their bodies intertwined in every way possible. How could you be this close to another human being, Allegra wondered, and not fall in love?

She tensed, though, as their heart rates slowed and Rafael, who had been bracing himself above her so as not to press against her bump, rolled onto his back. The sudden whoosh of cool air on her heated skin felt like an unwelcome wake-up call.

What now?

She waited, barely daring to breathe, afraid of this moment and what had it had meant before. Would he dismiss her from his bed? Leave her here alone? Then Rafael reached out one arm and hooked it around her shoulders, drawing her against him so her bump was pressed against his side, her knees snugging into the backs of his thighs. Allegra expelled a silent sigh of relief. It was going to be okay. More than okay.

Gently Rafael caressed her bump, his palm curving around the taut roundness of her belly. He laughed softly as their baby kicked.

‘I guess something woke him up.’ A smile in his voice, in her heart.

‘I guess something did,’ she answered, and wrapped her arm around his chest.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HE COULD SMELL THE BLOOD. Sharp, metallic. He didn’t recognise it, though, didn’t understand as he pushed the now broken splintered door open with his fingertips and took a step inside the room.

‘Papa?’

His voice was soft, scared, the voice of a child even though he was sixteen years old.

‘Papa…’

He saw his father’s hands first, slack, hanging down, fingers dangling. Then the drops of blood on the desk, a delicate spray, making him think ink had spilled. As if anyone used ink any more, let alone a bottle of bright red. And then his gaze moved upwards and he saw his father’s shattered face. Heard a scream rip from his throat—except it wasn’t his scream, it was his mother’s; she stood behind him, hands raised to her blood-drained face, and the awful unholy sound went on and on.

‘Rafael… Rafael!’

The hand shaking his shoulder woke him up; he came out of the dream like a bullet from a gun, the screaming still echoing in his ears. Next to him Allegra’s face was as pale as his mother’s had been, pale and frightened.

‘Rafael…’ she whispered, and he shook off her hand, roughly, and saw her flinch. Hated himself, but he couldn’t keep from doing it, from turning away. He swung his legs out of his bed and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

In the mirror his face was pale, his forehead beaded with icy sweat. Bile churned in his stomach and he thought he might be sick. Thankfully he swallowed it down, bracing his hands on the pedestal sink as he lowered his head and took several steadying breaths.

He hadn’t had that dream in years. A decade, even. He hadn’t let himself, had closed that part of his mind right off. Don’t think of it, because if you did you’d be lost, lost for ever, no coming back. He knew that. Knew if he remembered how he’d begged, begged his father… You couldn’t go back from that. You couldn’t recover, and so he refused to think of it.

Except, he acknowledged as he looked at his pale reflection in the mirror, he thought of it all the time. Not consciously, but it remained, a canker inside him, destroying everything good. Allegra had asked how her father could leave her, if he’d loved her. Rafael knew the answer to that in his own case times a thousand.

Because he didn’t love me. Because I couldn’t keep him from destroying himself. Because it’s all my fault.

He’d seen how his mother had gone, and his sister too. They’d been swallowed up by their nightmares, their memories, until there had been nothing left but a pale husk of a self, and then nothing at all. He couldn’t let it happen to him. But why the dream, why now?

Slowly he lifted his head and stared at his reflection. The answer was right there in his dazed face, the acidic churn in his belly. Allegra. Their lovemaking had been both sweet and powerful, and it had woken up long-dead parts of him, parts of him that remembered and felt and feared. Parts of him that he’d iced over with thoughts of justice, kept frozen with cold, cold fury. Now everything was waking up, a spring of the soul, and this was the result. Dreams he couldn’t bear to have. Memories he didn’t dare think about. Weakness.

He turned the taps on full blast and washed his face, scrubbed hard as if it would make a difference, and then turned them off again. He stared in the mirror, his eyes opaque, hard, and then he nodded once and left the bathroom.

Allegra was curled up on her side, her back to him, one hand cupping her bump. Thankfully she’d fallen asleep, but even in sleep her face looked sad, her mouth puckered, a frown feathering her brow. Rafael reached out to smooth a red-gold curl away from her cheek and then stopped. No need for that.

Tonight had been intense, and now he needed to get things back the way they had been, comfortable, enjoyable, but not threatening. No danger of scars being reopened, him bleeding again, bleeding right out. Take a step back, make it safe. That was what he needed to do…and preferably without hurting Allegra too much. But hurting Allegra couldn’t be his main concern any more. Keeping those memories locked tight away was.

Allegra woke slowly the next morning, blinking in the sunlight streaming from the windows, her body aching in delicious places. For a wonderful moment all she remembered was the pleasure, intense and overpowering, of being with Rafael. The way he’d held her, moved inside her…

Then another memory slammed into the first, leaving her breathless. The nightmare he’d had, the way he’d shut her out. She turned and saw that his side of the bed was empty, the duvet pulled tight across, as if he’d never been there. Had he even come back to bed?

Slowly she got out of bed, sorting through possibilities. What should she do now? How should she act? Despite what they’d shared together last night, she didn’t yet know how to handle this moment. Whether to press or pull away. She pulled on the thick terrycloth robe hanging from a hook in the bathroom and then gathered her clothes up, tiptoeing back to her room. Downstairs she could Maria humming in the kitchen, Salvatore’s tuneless whistle. Nothing from Rafael.

Back in her bedroom she showered and dressed; her mind sifting through memories, options. What to do? How to feel? Taking a deep breath, she went in search of the father of her child.

She found him in his study, forehead furrowed as he gazed at his laptop, his headphone set dangling from his neck. Allegra stood in the doorway for a moment, an ache in her heart, in her soul. She wanted to walk easily into the room and plop herself into his lap; she wanted to smooth away the furrows on his forehead and kiss that lovely, hard, mobile mouth. She wanted it to feel natural, right, and yet she simply stood there, wondering and waiting.

‘Did you have a conference call?’ she finally asked, her voice high and nervous as she nodded towards the headset.

Rafael’s gaze flicked towards her and then away, revealing nothing. Giving nothing. ‘Yes.’

‘Are you able to manage most of your business from here?’ He’d only gone into Palermo a few times over the last weeks.

‘I’ll need to start going into Palermo more often.’ He turned back to his laptop in a way that felt like a dismissal. ‘As well as Rome and Milan.’

‘I could come.’ She kept her voice light. ‘I’d like to come.’ Rafael didn’t answer, and Allegra took a deep breath. ‘Rafael…about last night…’

His mouth tightened, his gaze still on the screen. ‘Let’s not do a post-mortem.’

‘Post-mortem?’ Hurt flashed through her. ‘Really, that’s what you’d call it?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’m not sure I do.’

Finally Rafael lifted his gaze from his laptop, but then Allegra wished he hadn’t. His eyes were opaque, fathomless, hard. ‘Last night was pleasurable, Allegra, for both of us. That’s all that matters. Let’s leave it at that.’

‘Rafael…’ She took a deep breath, dared. ‘What about everything we talked about? What about the dream you had?’ As soon as she said the words she wished she hadn’t. An emotion flashed across his face like quicksilver, gone before she could decipher it, but she knew it hadn’t been good.

‘Forget about that,’ Rafael said flatly, and as he turned back to his screen Allegra knew she’d truly been dismissed. Still she wouldn’t give up that easily.

‘I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon in Palermo,’ she said. ‘An ultrasound. Will you come with me?’

He hesitated, and for that heart-stopping second she thought he wouldn’t. That he was turning away from her and their child completely, for a reason she could not understand. ‘Yes,’ Rafael said at last. ‘Of course I will.’

Rafael sat tensely by Allegra as the technician squirted cold, clear gel onto her stomach. They’d barely spoken on the drive into Palermo, which should have suited Rafael perfectly but instead made him feel restless and irritable.

He didn’t know what he wanted. The remnants of his old dream still clung to him, ghost fragments he couldn’t shake. They made him want to keep a little distance between him and Allegra, but another part of him howled in protest. Hated hurting her…and hurting himself.

‘Everything looks good,’ the doctor said as he prodded the ultrasound wand on Allegra’s burgeoning bump. ‘Baby is the right size…a growing boy.’

The fuzzy black and white shape on the ultrasound screen looked like a proper baby. Head, body, hands, feet, even fingers and toes. He was sucking his thumb and kicking his legs and the sight of him made a pressure build inside Rafael, a pressure he couldn’t even begin to understand. His hands curled into fists at his sides and he had to fight to keep his breathing even.

What was happening to him?

He felt too much. Happy. Thankful. Afraid. All of it combined inside him, making it hard even to speak. He focused on practicalities instead, helping Allegra up from the table, listening and nodding as the doctor asked them to book another appointment in four weeks’ time.

‘What shall we do now?’ Allegra asked as they left the doctor’s office for one of the city’s sweeping boulevards.

‘Do?’ Rafael looked at her cautiously. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m sick of being stuck at the villa,’ Allegra said. ‘It’s lovely, of course, but I’ve never been to Palermo and I’d like to see it properly. Can we look around a bit?’

Rafael looked at the tremulous hope on Allegra’s lovely face and knew he’d have to be a monster to refuse. ‘Yes,’ he said, the single word drawn from him with reluctance. ‘I suppose.’

For the next few hours they strolled down boulevards to squares with sparkling fountains, explored narrow alleys with charming shops and market stalls, and ended up at a café facing the lovely Piazza Pretoria, with its iconic fountain.

Allegra had kept up a steady stream of innocuous conversation the whole time, and Rafael hadn’t done much more than offer monosyllabic replies. He was trying to maintain that little bit of distance but it was hard…and becoming harder with every moment.

As they left the café Allegra bent over to reach her bag under the table and the sound of fabric splitting rent the air.

‘Oh, no.’ She straightened, her face fiery, one hand clapped to her back. ‘I’ve split my skirt,’ she whispered, looking mortified, and Rafael looked down at her clothes, realised she’d been wearing the same few loose tops and summer skirts since he’d seen her back in New York.

‘I think you need some new maternity clothes,’ he said, wishing he’d thought of it sooner.

‘I definitely need a new skirt,’ Allegra answered, laughing a little. ‘I’m not decent!’

‘I’ll ring a boutique right now.’ He draped his jacket over her as he shepherded her from the café into the waiting limo. Moments later they were stepping into one of Palermo’s best boutiques on the Via Liberta, several assistants already waiting to serve them.

Allegra was whisked away to a dressing room while Rafael sat on a white velvet settee, sipping champagne and scrolling through messages on his phone. This was more like it; he could take care of Allegra in the manner he wished to—and that she deserved—without actually having to engage her. She wasn’t even in the room.

‘What do you think?’ Allegra’s voice was soft and hesitant and Rafael looked up from his phone, his brain instantly going blank.

Allegra stared at the nonplussed look on Rafael’s face and wondered if she’d made a mistake. All afternoon she’d been trying to reach him, keeping up a cheerful one-sided conversation, determined to stay positive.

They’d shared a connection last night. She had to believe that, had to believe it had been real…and that they could have it again.

In the boutique’s dressing room she’d tried on several outfits, and then paused when the assistant had given her a sexy, slinky cocktail dress in soft black jersey. This one, she decided, she would show Rafael. See if she finally got some kind of reaction out of him. And now she was standing here, feeling faintly ridiculous, and Rafael was looking blank.

‘Well?’ She managed a laugh, and then she did a little twirl. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think…’ Rafael cleared his throat. ‘I think you look…’ He stopped, shaking his head as if to clear it. Allegra smiled. As far as reactions went, she’d take it.

She went back into the dressing room to change while the assistant took her clothes to the shop’s till. She was just pulling off the dress when the door opened.

‘I think I might need help with the zip,’ she said, and then to her shock Rafael answered.

‘I think I can do that.’

‘What are you doing…?’ Allegra began, her breath coming out in a soft sigh as Rafael gently tugged on the zip and then pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

A shudder went through her and she swayed on her feet, flinging one hand out to brace herself as Rafael’s mouth moved down her back.

‘Someone will see…’ she murmured as he slid the dress further down so it pooled about her hips. She could feel the hard, hot strength of his body behind hers and she leaned back, sagging against him as he kissed the curve of her shoulder.

‘No one will see.’

‘They’ll know.’

‘I don’t care. I can’t see you in that dress and not touch you.’

Touch her but not talk to her. She’d spent all afternoon trying to reach him but it seemed he didn’t want conversation. He wanted this.

And so did she.

Rafael pressed against her and Allegra’s eyes fluttered closed. This was rather wonderful.

‘Signor Vitali? We just need your card…’ The musical voice of the assistant floated towards them and they both tensed. With what felt like superhuman effort Allegra moved away. She stepped out of the dress and reached for her clothes as Rafael left in search of the assistant.

They didn’t speak on the way home, twilight cloaking the mountains in soft violet. Rafael had withdrawn into himself again, his expression shuttered and distant as Allegra curled up in a corner of the limo and dozed.

Back at the villa he disappeared into his office and with a sigh she went to put away her new clothes, sifting through the day’s events in her mind. Was she crazy to try to break through the wall Rafael seemed determined on putting up? Foolish to try for more when for her whole life she’d settled for so much less?

Allegra sank onto her bed, her unseeing gaze resting on the moonlit hills outside the window. She’d come to Sicily because she’d believed it was best for her child. It had felt like a sacrifice, one she had been ready and willing to make.

But now? Now, when she’d felt so much pleasure and happiness and connection with Rafael? When she sensed his overprotective, controlling nature disguised a man who could be tender and loving?

Now she didn’t want to come to some arrangement where they married and raised their child together, but lived as virtual strangers. Now she wanted a proper husband…and not just in bed.

But how to go about getting it? Was she strong enough to reach Rafael, to keep trying even when he pulled away? To face failure and rejection and keep holding on? She wanted to be. She wanted to make this work.

The click of the door opening had her turning, her surprised gaze arrowing in on Rafael.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked uncertainly, because he looked intent and serious and a little sad.

‘Now it is,’ he said, and relief rushed through her, along with desire, as Rafael came towards her and took her in his arms.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ALLEGRA GAZED AROUND the nursery with a smile of satisfaction. She’d made decorating the room her project over the last week, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. Pale blue walls with stencilled white elephants cavorting across them, and a cot bed in blond oak with fresh blue sheets ready and waiting, although she didn’t actually know when their son would sleep in this room.

The doctors had said he’d be in the hospital for several weeks at least, and then she planned to keep him in a bassinet next to the bed for easy feeding in the night. Still, she was excited about the room, could picture herself in the oak rocker by the window, her son cradled against her chest, sunlight streaming through the window, the perfect picture of familial happiness. Almost.

A sigh escaping her, Allegra moved to the window and looked out at the dusty hills. It hadn’t rained in weeks and the air felt stuffy. Now in her sixth month of pregnancy, she felt huge and awkward and more than a little grumpy. She rested one hand on her belly, trying yet again to banish the fears that skirted her mind, threatened to swamp her heart.

For the last few weeks she and Rafael had reached a holding pattern of spending their nights together—and what wonderful nights they were—and the days mostly apart. While she couldn’t fault Rafael for his solicitude and kind concern, the remoteness she sensed in him, the careful emotional distance he always kept between them, made her want to scream.

She wanted more. She tried for more, but at every turn Rafael foiled her obvious conversational gambits, her clumsy attempts to increase their intimacy. Was this what love was? Because she thought—she feared—that she loved him. Or at least that she could let him, if he’d let her. If he opened up.

But since that first incredible night he’d stayed remote. He didn’t even spend the whole night with her when they made love. He held her for a little while afterwards, but he never slept with her and every morning Allegra woke to an empty bed and an aching heart.

She wanted more than this. She needed more than this. After a lifetime of trying to avoid intimacy and love, here she was, desperate for it. The very situation she’d been wary of had happened, and it felt as if there was nothing she could do about it.

‘I have to go to Naples.’

Allegra started in surprise at the sight of Rafael in the doorway of the nursery. She couldn’t tell anything from his usual, closed-off expression, but even so she felt a ripple of alarm. ‘Naples? Why? Is it business?’ He’d gone to Palermo several times a week, and Milan and Rome once each.

There was a slight, taut pause. ‘No.’

Allegra frowned. ‘No? Then…what? I mean, why?’

Rafael didn’t answer for a long moment. Allegra thought he wouldn’t. ‘My sister,’ he said finally, shocking her.

‘Your sister…but…’ She trailed off, unsure what to say. She’d thought he’d lost his sister, that she’d died. He’d spoken about her as if she was gone, and so Allegra had assumed the worst.

‘She’s not well,’ Rafael said abruptly. ‘I need to…go to her.’

Allegra stared at him, sensing the dark undercurrent of anxiety under his terse tone, and she ached to help. Wanted to comfort him, but knew he wouldn’t let her. And yet…if he kept her apart in this, what hope was there? How could she ever get closer to him?

‘Let me come with you,’ she said, part entreaty, part demand, and Rafael’s face shuttered.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ Allegra challenged. ‘Please don’t keep shutting me out, Rafael, and pushing me away. If we’re going to have a child together, if we’re going to marry…’

‘You are being melodramatic. I haven’t pushed you away.’

‘Not at night,’ Allegra agreed, lifting her chin. ‘Not in bed. But in every other way you have. You know you have. I keep trying to reach you, and you keep refusing me. Please, Rafael, don’t refuse me in this. I want to support you…’

Rafael stared at her for a long moment, his expression both hard and bleak, and then he finally gave one quick, terse nod. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But I need to leave within the hour.’

He shouldn’t have let her come. A deep unease settled into Rafael’s gut as he climbed into the helicopter after Allegra. He hadn’t intended to let her come, of course he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted was for Allegra to see Angelica, see his shame.

But, he thought with a resolve tinged with despair, perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps, instead of having to maintain that careful distance, it would yawn between them, gape wide, because finally Allegra would see just what he was and how he’d failed.

The call had come that morning, from a doctor in Naples who had found his sister’s ID in her bag, as well as his name and phone number. She’d been discovered in an alley, unconscious, unresponsive. The last time the doctor had warned that another overdose could kill her. Angelica didn’t seem to care, and Rafael feared that was because she wanted to die. His father’s death had been quick, a single shot; his mother a slow, deliberate wasting away. Angelica was choosing self-destruction. And it was all his fault.

‘Is your sister ill?’ Allegra asked, shouting over the sound of the helicopter that would take them to Palermo for the short flight to Naples.

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Rafael turned to look out the window to avoid answering any more of Allegra’s questions. She would see soon enough what Angelica was like. What he was like.

And then? The unease he’d been feeling deepened into dark regret. Then things would be changed between them for ever.

They didn’t talk much on the flight to Naples; Allegra seemed to sense his mood and kept quiet, while Rafael kept his head down, his eyes on his tablet, dealing with work issues.

A car was waiting for them when they emerged from the airport, blinking in the afternoon sunlight, the muted roar of the city’s traffic, the raucous honking of horns and exclamations of passers-by hitting Rafael like a smack in the face. He didn’t like the busy, dirty streets of Naples. He’d offered a dozen times or more to pay for Angelica to move somewhere more congenial, but she’d always refused.

He gave the address of the hospital to the driver and then leaned back in the seat. Allegra looked at him in concern.

‘Won’t you tell me what’s going on?’ she asked quietly.

‘What is there to tell?’ Rafael shrugged, dismissing the question with a lift of his eyebrows. ‘My sister is in hospital.’ He paused, pressing his lips together. ‘A drug overdose.’

He could tell he’d shocked her with that one. And that was just the beginning.

‘What…?’ Allegra’s face crumpled with sympathy. ‘Oh, Rafael…’

‘Don’t.’ He shrugged away her compassion. ‘It happens often enough. And there’s nothing I’ve been able to do about it.’

Allegra lapsed into silence and Rafael looked away. He really shouldn’t have brought her, but perhaps it would, painfully, be for the best.

Allegra’s mouth was dry, her heart pinging in her chest, as she followed Rafael into the hospital lift. He pressed a button and then folded his arms over his chest, biceps bulging, face like an iron mask.

She’d been surprised and gratified when he’d agreed to let her come, but since he’d made that decision he’d seemed only to regret it, and he’d been colder and more remote that ever. She wondered if asking to come had been a mistake, and if Rafael would simply use this as a way to push her even further away.

The doors of the lift opened and Rafael strode out, while Allegra hurried to keep up. Then he was tapping perfunctorily on the door of a room before opening it and slipping inside. Allegra followed him.

The woman in the bed was asleep, dark lashes sweeping gaunt cheeks. Allegra stifled a gasp at the heart-wrenching sight of her—scars on each wrist and bruises and needle puncture marks scoring her arms in dozens of places. Her hair was dirty and tangled, her limbs scrawny, tendons sticking out like ropes. Rafael let out a shuddering breath. The woman’s eyes fluttered opened and then focused on Rafael.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she rasped out, her eyes burning like coals as she glared at him.

‘Of course I came.’ Rafael gazed at her for a moment, his expression closed and yet his eyes full of pain. ‘Why, Angelica?’

Angelica shook her head, her eyes closed again. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘Let me help you,’ Rafael said, his voice taking on a strident edge. ‘Please. There is a room waiting at the best clinic in Europe, in Switzerland. It’s luxurious, Angelica, and discreet. You’d want for nothing.’

Angelica shook her head again, without opening her eyes. Allegra’s heart started to splinter. She hated seeing Rafael like this, knowing how helpless, how hopeless, he must feel.

Rafael pressed his lips together, staring at his sister in a heart-breaking mix of grief and fury. ‘I’ve only wanted to help you, Angelica. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

Angelica opened her eyes, and Allegra stifled a gasp at the hatred and anger she saw in their depths. ‘Help me? When have you ever helped me?’ she demanded in a raw and ragged voice. Rafael flinched but didn’t reply. Didn’t defend himself. ‘Do you know what he did?’ Angelica demanded, turning to Allegra. She stared, speechless, unsure how to respond, how to feel. ‘Do you?’ Angelica’s voice rung out. Allegra licked her lips.

‘I… I don’t…’

‘He killed our father,’ Angelica spat. ‘He killed him. My brother only ever thought of himself. He didn’t…he couldn’t…’ She turned away, sobs tearing her chest.

Allegra had no idea what to say. She didn’t believe Angelica, the words of a vindictive and desperate drug addict, and yet…

Why wasn’t Rafael saying anything?

‘You can’t deny it, can you?’ Angelica said, her voice still coming in ragged gasps.

‘No,’ Rafael said after a moment. ‘I can’t.’

Shock rippled through Allegra. Rafael shot her a cold, hard glance. ‘Now you know,’ he said, but Allegra didn’t feel she knew anything.

‘Leave me,’ Angelica demanded in a low voice. She seemed drained, lifeless. ‘Leave me, I beg of you.’

Rafael gazed at his sister for a full minute while Allegra watched, her heart thudding in her chest. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

Allegra followed, her heart aching now, everything aching. ‘Rafael…’ she began when they’d entered a small waiting room, but he shook his head.

‘Don’t. I shouldn’t have brought you here.’

‘I asked to be brought here,’ Allegra answered. ‘I want to share your sorrows along with your joys. Please, Rafael…’

Rafael just shook his head again, pacing the small waiting room like a panther in a cage.

‘How long has she been like this?’ Allegra asked quietly.

Rafael didn’t still his stride. ‘Since she was fifteen. A year after my father died.’

‘How…how did he die?’

He lifted his tormented gaze to hers, his mouth twisting. ‘You heard her.’

‘I don’t believe her.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘No,’ Allegra said, but her voice wavered. She didn’t believe Angelica, not really, but she knew something had happened, something that tormented Rafael, that made him the way he was, dark and distant, and she was afraid to find out what it was.

‘Well, you should,’ Rafael said, and turned away.

‘Why don’t you tell me your version?’ Allegra asked quietly. ‘What really happened?’

‘What really happened?’ He stopped, raking his hands through his hair and then dropping them in one abrupt movement. ‘My father killed himself. I was the last to see him.’

Uncertainty mingled with sorrowful relief rushed through her. ‘Then you didn’t kill him…’

‘I drove him to his suicide. And then I wasn’t able to stop him from pulling the trigger.’

‘Oh, Rafael…’

‘And my mother and my sister blamed me. They blamed me, and they should have blamed me, because…because I couldn’t…’

‘But it wasn’t—’

‘You know what I was saying to him before he killed himself?’ Rafael didn’t wait for her to reply, not that she had any idea what to say. ‘I was complaining about having to leave my private school, because there was no more money. My father had lost everything, everything, and I was whinging about school.’ He shook his head slowly.

‘Rafael, you were a boy…’

‘A stupid, selfish boy. And it broke my father. He left the room and locked himself in his study…’ He stopped, shaking his head again. ‘But there’s no need to talk of it. Angelica won’t see me again. You might as well return to the villa. I never should have brought you in your condition.’

‘I’m not an invalid.’ Her heart was aching, aching for this man she loved. And yet Rafael’s expression was stony, and when she reached out a hand he jerked away from her.

‘I’ll arrange your flight.’

‘What…what about you?’

Rafael shook his head. ‘I won’t come with you. I have business to see to.’

Allegra stared at him helplessly, knowing that Rafael was taking another step away from her, and this one far worse than any before. Yet what could she do?

‘Please don’t do this, Rafael,’ she whispered, but he was already getting out his phone.

It was better this way. Rafael continued to tell himself that as he arranged Allegra’s flight and saw her onto it. She looked at him with a face full of hurt and desperation, but he steeled himself against it.

She might want to make explanations, excuses, but he couldn’t. And he wasn’t about to open either of them to more pain. What it meant for their future, he didn’t know. But now he knew he needed distance. Space.

He stayed in Naples for another two days, trying to reason with Angelica, but she wouldn’t even talk to him. He called Allegra, and was reassured she had returned safely to the villa.

‘When are you coming back?’ she asked, her voice soft and sad.

‘I don’t know,’ Rafael answered tersely. ‘I have business in Milan and Rome.’

‘I miss you,’ Allegra said quietly, and he didn’t answer. But after the call he spent several long minutes staring out the window at the dark night.

‘I miss you too,’ he said into the empty silence of his hotel room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE NEXT WEEK WAS ENDLESS. Allegra drifted around the villa, wishing she could make things better and feeling utterly powerless. She went over her conversation with Rafael again and again, considering all that he had and hadn’t said.

Did he really blame himself for his father’s suicide? If anyone, she thought with a bitter pang, he should blame her father, for ruining his. No wonder Rafael had been so driven to see justice served. His family had been utterly destroyed.

But they didn’t have to be destroyed. She couldn’t let this ruin them, and yet Rafael seemed hell bent on letting the past destroy any chance of their future.

She thought she understood now why he’d been so distant these last few weeks. Not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much…at least, that’s what she hoped. She hoped that it was fear of getting hurt that was keeping him away rather than brutal indifference.

Because that’s how she’d felt for so long. Loving someone was risky. Loving hurt, because people left you. People hurt you. And Rafael didn’t want to be hurt.

She hadn’t either. She’d lived her life for safety’s sake, never letting anyone get close, missing out because it was easier. Safer. But she didn’t want to do that now. Now she wanted to risk. Now she was willing to risk everything, because she knew she loved Rafael. And love risked. Love fought. Love, she hoped and prayed, won. But first Rafael had to come back.

Rafael unlocked the front door, every muscle aching with weariness. He’d spent the last week working as hard as he could, in a desperate and fruitless effort to forget. To erase the memory of Allegra, the sweetness of her, so he’d be strong enough to come back here and maintain his distance. Stay separate.

It was late and the villa was swathed in darkness, everyone hopefully in bed. Rafael intended to creep quietly to his bedroom and avoid Allegra altogether. He’d barely taken a step before he heard a creak on the stair and then he turned to see Allegra standing there.

Her hair was tumbled about her shoulders and she wore a silky white slip of a nightgown that left frustratingly little to the imagination. Already desire was surging through him, and he wondered if he could make this simple. If he could make it about sex.

Then she took a step forward, one pale, slender hand held out in appeal. ‘Rafael,’ she said softly, and he tensed because there was no supplication in her voice. No accusation. There was just warmth. Acceptance. He turned away.

‘I thought you’d be asleep.’

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘You didn’t even know I was coming back tonight.’

‘I know.’ She let out a soft, sad laugh. ‘I’ve been waiting since you left, Rafael. A whole week.’

His chest felt tight and he tried to shake the feeling off. ‘You shouldn’t have.’

‘Why not? Why are you pushing me away?’

‘Why aren’t you pushing me away?’ The words burst out of him, revealing, and yet he couldn’t keep himself from it. He turned to her, his voice ragged, his gaze burning. ‘Why are you still here?’

She looked hurt, shocked. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

‘No.’ He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Something felt broken deep inside him and he couldn’t articulate what it was, even to himself. ‘I’m getting a drink.’

He stalked into the lounge, and after a taut moment Allegra followed him. Rafael poured himself a large measure of whisky from the crystal decanter and drank it down in one healthy swallow. He could feel Allegra’s presence behind him. He could feel her confusion and hurt. ‘You should go back to bed.’

He heard a sound, something he couldn’t quite identify. She was moving or opening something, and he didn’t know what it was. He stayed with his back to her, willing her to leave him alone even as a deeper part of him ached for her to stay.

Then he heard the first sorrowful note hover in the room, steal into his soul, and shocked blazed through him. She was playing the cello.

He turned slowly, his glass dangling from his slack fingertips as he took in the sight of Allegra, her hair tumbling about her shoulders in a fiery halo, her expression serious and intent as she drew the bow across the strings of the cello and another sonorous note flowed through the room.

‘But…’ His voice was hoarse, breaking the stillness. ‘You said you didn’t play. Hadn’t played for ten years.’

Her gaze lifted and something deep in him trembled at the expression in her eyes, silvery and huge, clear and full of sadness. Full of love.

‘I haven’t. But I want to play for you, Rafael. Music…’ She paused, her voice choking. ‘Music has been the greatest comfort to me. And I don’t know of any other way to comfort you.’

She bent her head again and began to play once more, the notes sure and true and piercingly beautiful.

Rafael’s throat thickened with emotion and he sank into the sofa as the music washed over him, note after perfect note, the music haunting and powerful, breaking him. He was broken inside, nothing but jagged pieces, his heart a handful of splinters. He let out a sound, a choking cry that would have shamed him if he hadn’t felt so overwhelmed.

Allegra kept playing, each note touching his soul, undoing him. He let out another choked sound, and then Allegra was kneeling there in front of him, her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest as she whispered words that felt like sweet, sweet arrows, piercing the armour he’d surrounded himself with for so long.

‘I love you, Rafael. I love you. Nothing matters to me but that. But you. Please believe me. Please.’

He let out a groan, defenceless against the onslaught of her heartfelt words. ‘How can you love me…?’ The words spilled from him, heedless.

‘How can I not?’ She pressed her lips against her jaw. ‘I fell in love with you the night of my father’s funeral.’

‘I was only trying to seduce you…’

‘And I wanted to be seduced. I saw glimpses then of the man you really are, the man you want to be. Don’t turn away from me now, simply because you’re afraid.’ She laid her hand against his jaw, her skin silky and cool. ‘Because that is why you’ve been keeping your distance, isn’t it, these last few weeks, and even more so since we went to Naples? Because you’re afraid of being hurt.’

He closed his eyes, not wanting to admit it, knowing it was true. He’d tried to separate his body from his heart but it hadn’t worked. Allegra affected him in every way, right down to his core. And yet still he found himself saying, ‘I didn’t think anyone would love me. That anyone could love me…after my father…’ He shook his head, his eyes closed, and Allegra kissed him again, her lips soft against his jaw. ‘How could he do that? How could he walk away from me and kill himself? I begged him, Allegra. Pleaded with him with everything I had, pounded on the door, and still he did it, knowing the cost of it on me, on my mother and sister. How could he do that?’

The question rang out, the cry of a hurt child. It had festered inside him for twenty years, until his heart was nothing but scar tissue, barely healed over the old, old wound. And Allegra, and her love, had broken it all—him—open.

‘I asked you something similar,’ she whispered, her lips moving against his cheek. ‘Do you remember? And you told me it wasn’t my fault. Now I say the same thing to you, only even more so. Your father was a desperate man, Rafael, driven to terrible things because—because of my father. It wasn’t your fault, just as my father leaving wasn’t mine. Let’s leave the past behind us and make our own future, for the sake of our child and for the sake of us.’

‘But it was my fault,’ Rafael groaned, his voice breaking on the word. ‘Not his death, perhaps, but my mother…my sister…the choices they made, the fact that they felt compelled to make them. That they didn’t trust me to provide for them, to see us through the darkness and the mess. That was my fault. I was the man of the family, I was in charge, and I failed utterly. I can’t forgive myself for that. How can anyone else?’

Allegra squeezed Rafael’s hands, holding on tight, wanting to imbue him with her strength, her love, because she felt as if everything teetered on this moment. Whether he would pull away for good or if the walls would finally come down for ever.

She recognised the core of honour and compassion that he’d kept hidden for so long, realised now that his withdrawal from her had not been from indifference but because he’d cared too much.

She knew that he now suffered from both guilt and hurt—just as she did, with her father’s abandonment. Because when you were hurting, you assumed it was something in you that drove a person away. Something bad or wrong. And she would give anything now to show Rafael that there wasn’t.

Slowly she leaned forward, still holding his hands, her bump pressing against him as she brushed her lips across his in a kiss of acceptance and healing. A kiss where she offered her whole self, there for the taking.

His body was still, his lips slack under hers, and her heart trembled at the terrible thought of his rejection, but then he opened his mouth and made the kiss his own, one hand coming to rest on the back of her head, and he took what she offered and gave even more back.

Moments later they broke apart and with a shuddering breath Rafael leaned his forehead against hers. ‘When my father died,’ he murmured, his breath fanning her face, ‘I felt like my world had shattered…not just because we lost everything but because I’d lost him. Because he’d been driven to such despair, and I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop him.’

‘I’m so sorry, Rafael…’

‘I felt powerless and out of control. And I never wanted to feel like that again. But then I cruelly inflicted that pain on another family. I killed your father too, Allegra.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘If what Caterina said was true…then your father died of a heart attack when he heard the news about me taking over the company. I killed him—’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Allegra said quietly. ‘You can’t know exactly what happened, and in any case you can’t blame yourself for my father’s death along with everyone in your family.’

His eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘You absolve me?’

‘I’m not the one to do that, Rafael. You don’t need my forgiveness.’

‘Whose then?’ The question was genuine, yearning.

‘Your own,’ Allegra said softly. ‘Rid yourself of these ghosts and demons. Your father chose to kill himself—there was nothing you could have done. Despair leads people to feel there’s no way out, no hope. That was not your fault.’ He opened his mouth to protest but she continued, her voice rising in strength and conviction. ‘And your mother—that was her choice too. Perhaps she didn’t want to live without her husband. It’s not a reflection on you—’

‘It is—’

‘No. Maybe she should have wanted to live for her children, but some people are not strong enough. Don’t blame her, Rafael, but don’t blame yourself either. For your mother’s death or your sister’s addiction.’

‘And your father?’ Rafael asked after an endless moment of silence. ‘Don’t you…aren’t you angry for what I did?’

Was she? ‘I understand why you wanted to take over his business,’ she said slowly. ‘And I wish I understood more fully what happened back then. Did my father blame yours on purpose, knowing he was innocent? Who else could have embezzled the money?’

Rafael stiffened. ‘It wasn’t my father.’

‘I know,’ Allegra soothed. ‘And maybe we’ll never know who was truly responsible. But let’s put it behind us, Rafael. For ever.’

He stared at her, and Allegra held her breath, waiting, everything in her aching. She’d given him everything. Her love, her heart, her body, her soul, her music. Everything. And she still didn’t know what he was going to do with it.

‘I want to try,’ Rafael said at last, and Allegra nodded as she blinked back tears.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s try.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE REALISATION WAS like a thunderclap, startling her awake. Allegra stiffened in bed, her heartbeat coming in thuds. Next to her Rafael slept on. They’d gone to bed together, holding hands, silent and accepting. It felt like a new start, fresh and fragile. Allegra hoped it would endure. That they would.

And then, in the midst of sleep, she’d had that sudden thought slam into her, leaving her breathless and reeling. Her mother. Her mother had embezzled that money. It made such horrible sense. Someone close to her father had taken the money; that same person had pointed the finger at Rafael’s father. And it made her parents’ sudden divorce understandable too, along with the lack of alimony, her father’s concern for his own reputation. But where had the money gone?

Although Jennifer had always claimed poverty, after the divorce they hadn’t been exactly destitute. It wasn’t as if they’d been out on the streets. Looking at the situation now, a grown woman, Allegra doubted that a few pieces of jewellery could have really kept them afloat. Even the embezzled money wouldn’t have lasted long in Jennifer’s hands—the woman was a spending machine—but it would have tided them over for a while…until she’d found another man to fund her lifestyle. It seemed, all of a sudden, entirely, horribly possible.

If it was true…what would it mean for her mother—but far more importantly, for her and Rafael?

Allegra slipped from the bed, throwing on a dressing gown before reaching for her laptop. She typed in the Internet search box and within seconds she had the dates of both Marco Vitali’s suicide and her parents’ divorce. Weeks apart. Weeks.

Allegra pushed the laptop away as she stared unseeingly into the distance, her mind racing. If her mother had taken the money…if her father had discovered it…if he’d divorced her so abruptly because of that, wanting to separate himself from his wife but unwilling for his reputation to suffer…

There was only one way to find out. One way to truly know. She needed to talk to her mother. Allegra toyed with the idea of a phone call but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the truth over a telephone line. She needed to see her mother face to face, and see the truth, or lack of it, in her eyes. She needed to know. Because perhaps then she and Rafael could finally put the past to rest and move on as a family. Perhaps then he could find the closure he so desperately needed.

She glanced back at him, his face relaxed in sleep, his dark lashes feathering his olive-toned cheeks. He looked beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting, and he made her heart ache with love. But would he countenance a trip to America? What would his reaction to the possibility of her mother’s crime be?

As if he could sense her thoughts Rafael opened her eyes. He blinked away the dazed confusion of sleep, his amber gaze arrowing in on her. ‘Allegra? Is something wrong?’

She licked dry lips, her heart starting to pound. What if he was angry? What if he blamed her somehow? Despite everything they’d said and shared, she still didn’t know if Rafael actually loved her. He hadn’t said the words. He’d fought against the feeling, even last night, everything in him resisting, but she’d pressed and pushed and tried so hard…

‘Allegra?’ Rafael said again, his tone sharpening.

‘I think I know who embezzled the money. Back then.’

‘What?’ Rafael sat up in bed, his eyes narrowed as he raked a hand through his hair. ‘How could you possibly know that?’ He almost sounded suspicious. Of her.

Allegra took a deep breath. She felt nervous, even afraid. Why was she risking this—them—so soon? Before she even knew the truth or strength of Rafael’s feelings? And yet, with this new truth lodged inside her like a stone, how could she not?

‘It came to me last night.’ She gulped, Rafael’s stare still hard and unrelenting. ‘I think… I think it was my mother.’

‘Your mother?’

‘It makes sense, in an awful way. She had some money, but she didn’t get it from my father. And the divorce was so sudden, so abrupt…’

Rafael swung his legs out of bed, sitting so his back was to her, his hands raked through his hair.

‘This doesn’t have to change anything between us,’ Allegra said quietly. ‘Does it?’

‘There’s no proof, is there?’ Rafael’s voice was flat, toneless. ‘We could never prove it.’

‘I… I don’t know. I thought, perhaps, we could go to New York. Confront her. Maybe…maybe then you’d feel…’ She trailed off, uncertain and miserable. Why had she begun this wretched conversation? Yet she couldn’t have kept such an awful suspicion, a huge secret, to herself. She didn’t want there to be secrets or lies between them, ever.

‘You can’t go to New York in your state.’

‘Rafael, I’m barely into the third trimester. And I want to be there. Let’s do this together. Even if there’s no proof, it would be good to know, wouldn’t it? Maybe then…maybe then you could finally let the past go.’

‘While your mother walks free?’

Allegra blinked at the savage note in his voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, because she was, even if none of it was her fault. Still everything felt complicated and messy, painful.

‘I’ll book the tickets,’ Rafael said, and then he rose from the bed and walked out of the room.

It felt like too much, on top of everything that had happened last night. Allegra’s mother. She’d as good as signed the death warrant on his family. He didn’t blame Allegra, knew she had nothing to do with it, and yet…

It felt bitter, almost too much to bear.

Rafael got ready in taut silence, booking the tickets, packing clothes, telling himself he’d feel better when he knew.

Salvatore drove them to Palermo; Allegra looked tired and miserable, huddled on one side of the limo, one hand resting on her bump. Guilt flashed through him, an acidic rush. She’d given him so much last night. She’d told him she loved him. And he’d fought her every step of the way, couldn’t bear the thought of being that vulnerable. That exposed.

And yet he’d shown her the worst of him and she still hadn’t walked away. Even now, when he was practically ignoring him, Allegra was there, for the duration, determined to stay by his side, to see this through.

And maybe she needed this as much as he did. If her mother was guilty, it had affected Allegra’s life as much as his. They’d both been ensnared by the past—and perhaps the truth could now set them both free.

The thought was radical, shifting truths inside him, tilting the world so his perspective was sharper, clearer.

Rafael reached over and took Allegra’s hand; surprise flickered across her face as he laced his fingers through hers. He didn’t speak; he didn’t think he had the words. But he hoped she knew what he was trying to say.

The city was resplendent with autumn colour as they took a cab from the airport to Allegra’s mother’s apartment in the less fashionable end of Park Avenue, skirting Harlem. Allegra had slept for much of the flight, taking comfort from Rafael’s silent support. He hadn’t said much, but the mood had shifted between them, the tension focused outward rather than inside. Allegra rested her hand on his shoulder as she dozed and prayed that this would be what she wanted it too—closure. Peace.

Jennifer’s expression was almost comical in its shock as she took in the sight of both of them standing in the doorway of her apartment. Her hand fluttered towards her throat and her face paled. ‘Allegra…and you must be Vitali.’

‘Rafael Vitali,’ Rafael answered in a low, gravelly voice. ‘Marco’s son.’

‘I never met him.’ Jennifer’s expression had cleared, hardened. She was, Allegra realised with a sinking feeling, going to put up a front.

‘Mother, may we come in?’

‘Of course. Have you…have you come all the way from Sicily?’

‘This very afternoon,’ Rafael answered. They followed Jennifer into her sitting room where she perched on a white leather sofa, eyebrows elegantly arced.

‘What a lovely surprise.’

‘Is it?’ Allegra asked quietly, and Jennifer’s eyes narrowed.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Allegra took a deep breath. ‘Mother, Marco Vitali was accused of embezzlement and lost his business as a result.’

‘I told you that,’ Jennifer answered with a dismissive flick of fingers. She shot Rafael a quick, wary glance. ‘I’m sorry for it, of course, but it has nothing to do with me.’

‘He killed himself as a result.’

Jennifer’s expression didn’t change. ‘Again, I’m sorry.’

‘There was never any proof it was him, though,’ Allegra continued, determined to see this through. She and Rafael both needed to have this reckoning. ‘The only so-called proof was that someone close to Papa told him it was Marco.’

Jennifer shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘So?’

‘So, who was that person? And who really did take the money? Because it was someone close to my father, someone he trusted.’

‘You flew all the way to New York to talk about this?’ Jennifer demanded, her lips twisting in a sneer. ‘I suppose he put you up to it?’ she added with a glare at Rafael.

‘I did not,’ Rafael returned, his voice a low thrum in his chest. ‘In fact, I did not want her to make the trip in her condition. But I realised I did want to know. Not for my sake,’ he emphasised, his voice lowering to a growl of menacing intent, ‘but for Allegra’s.’

‘What…?’ Allegra turned to him, her lips parting in wordless shock.

‘If your mother is guilty,’ Rafael said, ‘then she affected your life as much as mine.’ He turned to Jennifer, skewering her with a gaze full of knowledge and accusation. ‘Because that’s why her father stayed away, isn’t it? You made him.’

Jennifer’s mouth dropped open and for a few seconds she struggled to speak. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she finally blustered.

‘No,’ Rafael answered, so firm, so sure. ‘You do know. Because you tried to use Allegra as a bargaining chip.’

‘What?’ Allegra’s mind raced. ‘How do you know…?’ she demanded of Rafael, the words torn from her.

‘I don’t. I’m guessing.’ He nailed Jennifer with a look. ‘And I’m right.’

Jennifer glared at him for a full minute, and then she rose from the sofa, flouncing over to the bar where she poured herself a stiff drink. Allegra watched her, her heart seeming to beat its way up her throat.

‘Mother, is that true? Did you threaten Papa? Is that why—?’

‘You always thought your father was a saint,’ Jennifer said as she tossed back her drink in one swallow and then flung the glass on the table. ‘Even when he walked away from you for good.’ She turned around, her arms folded tightly against her chest. ‘You can’t prove anything. There’s no paper trail, nothing. Trust me on that.’

‘So you did do it,’ Allegra cried, tears streaking down her face. ‘How could you…?’

Jennifer pressed her lips together. ‘Your father kept me on very short purse strings.’

‘But why did Papa leave…?’

She looked away. ‘I told him if he made me leave he’d never see you again. He didn’t want to go through the courts, didn’t want the stain on his precious reputation. To have a criminal for a wife! He couldn’t bear it. And I thought… I thought he’d change his mind, if he couldn’t have you. I didn’t know he’d be so bloody stubborn.’

Allegra leaned back against the sofa cushions, her whole body weak and trembling with shock.

‘I never meant Vitali to be blamed the way he was,’ Jennifer said defensively. ‘I just suggested it once. I didn’t expect Vitali’s business to be ruined by it.’

‘You destroyed the life of an entire family,’ Allegra said, her voice shaking. ‘You have blood on your hands.’

‘Is it my fault that he chose to do that?’ Jennifer cried. ‘He didn’t have to.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ Rafael interjected quietly. To Allegra’s surprise he didn’t look as angry as she expected him to. He looked sad and resolute, and the surest rock upon which she could depend. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. ‘You are not to blame for his death,’ he said to Jennifer. ‘But you are a criminal all the same, and you know it.’

Jennifer’s eyes shot sparks as she lifted her chin and said nothing. ‘Tell me,’ Rafael said quietly. ‘Did Mancini ever try to contact Allegra?’

Jennifer looked as if she wasn’t going to answer. ‘There were letters,’ she said finally, and looked away.

Allegra let out a gasp. ‘Letters… Did you keep them? Why didn’t you show them to me?’

‘I could hardly do that,’ Jennifer dismissed. ‘You would have started asking questions. But I’m not completely heartless, you know.’ She pressed her lips together, and then she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

Allegra pressed her cheek against Rafael’s chest and he put his arms around her. ‘How did you know…?’ she whispered.

‘I guessed.’

‘I never thought…never imagined…’

‘Maybe now you’ll find some answers.’

Allegra look up at him, her eyes wet with tears. ‘I already have, Rafael. With you. In you.’

A brief, trembling smile touched his lips and he rested his forehead against hers. Allegra closed her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry to interrupt this touching scene,’ Jennifer said. She tossed a packet of letters on the table in front of them and Allegra took them up, scanning the faded envelopes. There had to be at least a dozen.

‘We’ll go now,’ Rafael said, rising from the sofa.

‘Wait.’ Allegra touched his sleeve. ‘Don’t you have anything to say to Rafael?’ she demanded of her mother. ‘Do you know how much he has suffered? His family has suffered?’

Jennifer flinched a little but then pressed her lips together and said nothing. She wouldn’t admit any more guilt than she had to.

‘It doesn’t matter, Allegra,’ Rafael said quietly. ‘This isn’t about me.’

‘But it is—’

‘No.’ He cut her off with gentle firmness. ‘This was about you. You needed to hear this.’ He gestured to the letters. ‘You needed to see this.’ He tugged her up to standing, his gaze intent and full of—dared she believe it?—love. ‘And now we can truly move on.’

Moments later they were standing in front of her mother’s building, blinking in the bright sunlight. Allegra pressed her father’s letters to her chest as she shook her head in wonder.

‘I never expected this…’

‘I’m glad it has happened.’

‘But what about you, Rafael? Does it…does it matter, knowing my own mother…?’

‘Someone I love taught me that the sins of our parents do not have to affect or define us. The past doesn’t have to destroy our future.’

A tremulous smile bloomed across her face, planted its roots deep in his heart. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘I love you, Allegra. I’ve loved you for a while, but I fought it because I am a blind, hard-headed fool. And I was afraid, just as you guessed and said. Afraid of being hurt. Of seeming weak. But you saw all my weakness and failure and you loved me even then. Even more.’

‘I love you,’ she said. ‘All of you.’

‘And I love all of you.’ He put his arms around her and drew her to him. ‘Especially since you can forgive me when I act so foolishly, pulling away when I should have pushed closer.’

‘I understood it was scary, Rafael. It was scary for me too.’

‘But you wised up a lot faster than I did,’ he said with a smile. He brushed his lips across hers. ‘Now let’s go home.’

EPILOGUE

Eighteen months later

‘HE’S THE SMARTEST baby that ever was,’ Allegra declared.

‘Of course he is,’ Rafael answered easily, as he joined her on the lawn, stretching his long legs out on the blanket. The sunshine bathed them in a golden glow, and above them the leaves rustled pleasantly. Their son, named Marco after Rafael’s father, babbled excitedly as he attempted to heft his chubby self to his feet.

‘He’s trying to walk,’ Allegra exclaimed. ‘And the doctors said he wouldn’t walk until he was at least two.’

‘Yes, but what do they ever know?’ Rafael teased.

It had been a long, hard year and a half in many ways. Little Marco had spent four months in the neonatal unit, first getting strong enough to handle heart surgery and then recovering from that surgery. There had been a few scary moments along the way—a bout of pneumonia that had tested his lungs, and an infection after his surgery. But he’d grown stronger and stronger and finally, when their son had been nearly five months old, they’d brought him back to the villa to begin their life together as a proper family.

Three months ago they’d got married, a small, intimate ceremony in the nearby town, with only a handful of guests. Allegra hadn’t wanted a big do, and neither had Rafael.

They were happy as they were, living quietly, with Rafael commuting to Palermo for work. Allegra had started offering cello lessons to local children, and enjoyed playing more than she ever had. The local priest had asked her to play a concert in the church in the nearby town, and Allegra had agreed.

Love, she realised, made her bloom. Made her believe more in herself, because Rafael believed in her. And she saw the same unfurling in Rafael, the lightness and sheer joy in his face, his eyes. Love made you bloom and love also healed.

In recent months Rafael had taken new steps with Angelica, talking more honestly to her than he ever had before. Last week Angelica had moved into the clinic in Switzerland and was undergoing several months of rehab and therapy. So many miracles.

‘Allegra, look!’ His voice filled with amazement, Rafael pointed to their son who, with a look of both determination and terror on his face, was taking his first step.

‘He’s amazing,’ Rafael declared, and, laughing, Allegra reached out to clasp Marco’s hands.

‘Just like his father, then,’ she said, and, smiling, Rafael leaned down to kiss her.

The Virgin’s Shock Baby

Heidi Rice

The Italian’s one-night heir

Vulnerable Megan Whittaker has orders to find out if tycoon Dario De Rossi plans to acquire her father’s business. Reluctantly, she agrees, but doesn’t expect to be so distracted by their searing chemistry that she ends up in his bed!

Dario does have takeover ambitions, but when Megan is violently punished for her night with the enemy, he feels honor-bound to protect her. They escape to Italy, but this commanding businessman soon discovers a deeper problem. Not only is Megan suffering from amnesia, meaning she believes they’re engaged and passionately in love…but she’s also carrying his baby!

To Bryony, who made sure I gave this story the

depth it deserved.

And Daisy, who talked me off the ledge a few

times while I was doing that!

Dario, Megan and I thank you both sincerely.

PROLOGUE

‘DARIO DE ROSSI IS escorting you to the Westchester Ball tomorrow night and you need to seduce him while you’re there.’

‘What? Why?’ Megan Whittaker was fairly sure she’d just been transported into an alternate universe. An alternate universe that was two hundred years past its sell-by date. Either that or her father had lost his mind. Whichever way you looked at it, the demand he had just levelled at her from across his walnut desk in the Manhattan offices of Whittaker Enterprises, without even the hint of a smile on his face, was not good news, because he did not appear to be joking.

‘To save Whittaker’s from possible annihilation,’ her father snapped. ‘Don’t give me your whipped puppy look, Megan,’ he added. ‘Do you think I would ask this of you if there were another option?’

‘Well, I…’ She wanted to believe him, even though she knew his love for Whittaker’s had always taken precedence over his love for his daughters.

But unlike her sister, Katie, Megan understood that. Having spent the last four years working her way up to head her own tiny department at Whittaker’s, she didn’t begrudge him his dedication to the company that had been in their family for five generations.

She also didn’t really begrudge him a request so outside the norm for a father to a daughter, or indeed a boss to his employee. She knew that to be successful in business your personal life had to suffer, and personal loyalties could be tested. But this was… Well… It wasn’t even rational. What possible reason could there be for her to seduce any man? Let alone a man like De Rossi, a corporate wolf who had risen through the ranks of New York business society in the last ten years to become one of its prime movers and shakers.

Quite apart from anything else, if her father was looking for a femme fatale, surely he must know Megan was not the best candidate for the job.

She simply did not have the necessary temperament, equipment or experience. She had always been more comfortable in business suits and flats than cocktail dresses and heels. She found going to the beauty salon tedious, the concentration on her appearance a waste of time and money. Her intellect and her work ethic were so much more important. And after the few fumbled encounters she’d had at college, she’d been beyond grateful to discover she comprehensively lacked her mother’s voracious and indiscriminate libido. At twenty-four, she was still technically speaking a virgin, for goodness’ sake! These days she would much rather spend her small amount of free time watching TV boxsets with a nice glass of Pouilly Fuissé, than finding a man—especially as the judicious use of a vibrator could take care of her needs without all the awkwardness and disappointment.

‘Someone’s buying up all our stock,’ her father said, the vein pulsing at his temple starting to disturb Megan. ‘I’m almost certain it’s him. And if it is him, we’re in serious trouble. We’re exposed. We have to stay his hand. That means making sacrifices for the good of the company.’

‘But I don’t understand how…’

‘You don’t have to understand. What you have to do is get an invitation back to his penthouse so we can discover if it is him. If you can find out which of our shareholders he’s targeting that would be even better. Then we might have some hope of keeping the bastard off our back until I can secure new capital investment.’

‘You expect me to seduce him for the purposes of industrial espionage?’ Megan tried to clarify where her father was going with this, as something became devastatingly obvious to her. He had to be exceptionally stressed to believe she could pull such a plan off with her limited skills, which meant the company must be in serious financial difficulties.

‘You have your mother’s face and figure, Megan. And you’re not a lesbian… Are you?’

Her face coloured, the heat racing up her neck, the impatient enquiry mortifying her. ‘What? Of course not, but…’

‘Then what’s the damn problem? Surely there must be enough of that oversexed bitch in you somewhere to know how to seduce this bastard. It’s built into your DNA, all you have to do is locate it.’ Her father was becoming increasingly frantic. The bitterness in his voice at the mention of her mother made Megan’s stomach knot.

Her father never mentioned her mother. Not ever. Alexis Whittaker had abandoned all three of them—her father, herself and her little sister, Katie—not long after Katie’s birth, and had died ten years ago when her Italian boyfriend’s Ferrari had plummeted from a clifftop road on the island of Capri. Megan could still remember her father coming to tell her the news at her boarding school in Cornwall, his face white with an agonising combination of grief, pain and humiliation. And she could remember the same hollow sensation in her stomach.

Her mother had been a social butterfly, stunningly beautiful, flamboyant and reckless—with everyone’s life including her own. Megan could barely remember her; she’d never come to visit her daughters, which was why their father had shipped them off to board at St Grey’s as soon as they were old enough.

The hollow confusion had turned to panic though, when paparazzi photos of her and Katie at the funeral had appeared on the Internet. They had been forced to leave the only real home they had ever known, chased out by the photographers wanting to get a glimpse of the ‘grief-stricken’ Whittaker sisters, and the salacious whispers about their mother’s infidelities, spread by some of the other girls at St Grey’s. Her father had moved them to an apartment ten blocks from his own on Fifth Avenue in New York, employed a housekeeper and a security guard, enrolled them in an exclusive private school and made the effort to visit them at least once a month. And eventually the media storm surrounding Alexis Whittaker’s wicked ways and her untimely death had died down.

But ever since Megan had been ripped away from St Grey’s, she had promised herself two things: she would protect the sister she loved from the fallout of her mother’s disgrace, and she would work herself to the bone to prove to her father that she was nothing like the woman who had given birth to them.

And up until this moment, she had thought she’d succeeded. With her second objective at least. Katie, unfortunately, appeared to be almost as wild as their mother, despite Megan’s best efforts to tame her rebellious temperament.

Megan, though, had concentrated on making her father proud. She’d got a first at Cambridge two years ahead of her peers in computer science. And then an MBA at Harvard Business School specialising in e-commerce. To prove herself worthy, not just to her father but to her colleagues at Whittaker’s, she’d refused his offer of a vanity position and had instead started on the ground floor of the building in Midtown. After six months in the mailroom, she’d applied for an internship in the tech department. It had taken her three years to work her way up the ladder from there, rung by torturous rung. Her recent promotion had put her in charge of the company’s small three-person e-commerce department, finally proving once and for all that her mother’s shameful behaviour had no bearing on who she was. Until this moment.

How could her father even consider asking her to seduce De Rossi? Did he expect her to have sex with the man, too?

‘I can’t do it,’ she said.

‘Why the hell not?’

Because I’m about as far from being De Rossi’s ideal woman as Daffy Duck is from Jessica Rabbit.

‘Because it wouldn’t be ethical,’ she managed, recoiling from the hot flash of memory from the only time she’d ever met De Rossi in the flesh.

He’d certainly made an impression.

She’d heard of him, but the gossip hadn’t prepared her for the staggeringly handsome man who had arrived at the Met Ball with supermodel Giselle Monroe hanging off his arm like the latest fashion accessory. The brute force of his powerful body had barely been contained by the expertly tailored designer suit, and his bold heated gaze had raked over her when they’d been introduced by her father. The knowledge in his ice-blue eyes had disturbed her on a purely visceral level. And set off a thousand tiny explosions of sensation over every inch of exposed skin.

She’d been careful to avoid De Rossi for the rest of the evening, because she’d known instinctively the man was not just tall, dark and handsome, but also extremely dangerous—to her peace of mind.

‘Don’t be naïve.’ Her father flicked a chilling glare at her. ‘There are no ethics in business. Not when it comes to the bottom line. De Rossi certainly doesn’t have any, so we can’t afford to have any either.’

‘But how did you even persuade him to take me to the ball?’ Megan said, becoming desperate herself.

‘It’s a charity ball. He’s paying for a table. You’re going to be Whittaker’s representative there. I asked him to escort you as a courtesy to me; he’s a member of my club.’

So she had officially become a pity date—which would have been mortifying, if her father’s ulterior motive wasn’t a thousand times worse.

‘De Rossi’s only weakness that I could find is for beautiful women,’ her father continued in the same deceptively pragmatic tone. As if he were talking sense, instead of insanity. ‘Not that it’s exactly a weakness. He’s never been foolish enough to marry one of them, unlike me. And he never keeps them longer than a few months. But he’s between women at the moment, according to Annalise, who keeps up with this nonsense,’ he said, mentioning his mistress. ‘And he never has one out of his bed for long. Which gives you all the opportunity you need. He’ll be on the hunt and I’m putting you in his path. All you need to do is get his attention.’ The dispassionate statement had shame burning the back of Megan’s neck. ‘Get an invite to his penthouse on Central Park West,’ her father continued. ‘Once he takes you there, you can get access to his computer and his files. Computers are your forte, are they not?’

That he’d thought this scenario through in such detail wasn’t helping the chill spreading through Megan’s abdomen—or the flush of awareness flaming across her scalp. ‘But anything he has on there will be password protected,’ she said, trying to be practical.

‘I have his passwords.’

‘How?’

‘It’s not important. The important thing is to get access to his computer before he changes them. Which means acting quickly and concisely.’

And setting her up as some kind of Mata Hari? The idea would almost be funny if it weren’t so appalling.

‘You can’t ask me to do this,’ said Megan. She’d always strived so hard to please her father, to prove herself worthy of his trust. There weren’t many things she wouldn’t do for him, but this request scared her on so many levels. ‘You wouldn’t ask me to, if I were your son,’ she added, trying to appeal to her father’s sense of justice. He wasn’t a bad man, he was fair and, in his own gruff, distant way, he loved her and Katie. Obviously he was so stressed he had completely lost his grip on reality. But he had to be under a huge amount of pressure, if De Rossi was sniffing about the company.

She knew enough about De Rossi’s business practices from the financial press to know that once his conglomerate got their hooks into your stock you were as good as dead in the water. He was famous for asset stripping. If he really was planning a hostile takeover, he could reduce Whittaker’s to rubble in weeks, a legacy company destroyed in a heartbeat simply to feed his insatiable appetite for wealth at any cost. But her father’s solution was beyond desperate, not to mention illegal, and doomed to failure. She had to make him see that, and find another way.

‘If I had a son and De Rossi was gay, that would be an option.’ Instead of looking persuaded, the tic in her father’s cheek went ballistic. ‘As neither is the case, it’s a moot point.’

The blush seared her skin, the knot in her stomach tightening into a hollow ball of anxiety. It was no good, she was going to be forced to state the obvious.

‘De Rossi might as well be gay for all the interest he’s likely to take in me. He dates supermodels.’

And I’m hardly supermodel material.

At five-foot-five, and with the lush curves she had inherited from her mother, Megan had felt like an over-endowed pixie next to the slim, stunning woman who had fawned over De Rossi at the Met Ball.

But Megan’s lack of appeal to men had always felt like a boon. She didn’t want to become any man’s decorative accessory. Especially not a man like De Rossi, who even on their brief acquaintance she suspected was as ruthless with women as he was in his business dealings.

She could control those mini explosions. They were nothing more than a biological reaction.

‘Don’t sell yourself short.’ Her father huffed, looking exasperated now as well as desperate. ‘You have enough of your mother’s charms to attract him if you put your mind to it.’

‘But I—’

‘If you don’t do it, there’s only one other person I can ask.’

Megan’s panic downgraded. Thank goodness, he had someone else he could ask. She would not have to even attempt something that was bound to humiliate and degrade her, and was extremely unlikely to be successful. ‘Who?’

‘Your sister, Katie.’

The panic went from ten to ninety in a nanosecond.

‘But Katie’s only nineteen,’ she cried, shocked. ‘And she’s in art school.’

After an endless string of school expulsions and acting out against their father’s authority, Katie had finally found her passion as a talented and brilliant artist. And she didn’t give a fig about Whittaker’s.

‘An art school I pay for,’ her father remarked, the dispassionate expression chilling Megan to the bone. Katie and her father had been at loggerheads for years—ever since the sisters had moved to New York after their mother’s death. It had taken Megan months to persuade their father to pay for the exclusive academy that had only offered Katie a partial scholarship—something she had never told her sister. She didn’t know how Katie would react if she discovered their father was paying some of her tuition fees and was prepared to pull the plug on the dreams she’d worked so hard for to save Whittaker’s. But Megan doubted it would be good.

‘Your sister is also as reckless and wild as your mother,’ her father added. ‘Given the right incentive, I think we both know she’d pass this assignment with flying colours.’

No, she wouldn’t, she’d be crushed, Megan thought.

Katie was as lively and spirited as Megan was cautious and grounded. But for all her recklessness, she also had an open and easily bruised heart—and absolutely no regard for business ethics or expediency. Katie would be appalled that their father could ask such a thing of either one of them. And Katie’s own worst enemy was usually Katie. She was volatile and unpredictable, especially if she was hurt. So much so that Megan had no idea what she’d do if forced into this situation by their father. She could have a mad passionate affair with De Rossi or annoy him so much he’d destroy Whittaker’s just for the hell of it. But one thing was for sure, putting a hothead like Katie into the path of someone as ruthless as De Rossi would be a car crash of epic proportions, and Katie would be the one who got destroyed.

‘The only reason I haven’t already asked her is because she knows nothing about computers,’ her father said. ‘And De Rossi likes his lovers more mature, according to Annalise,’ he added. ‘You’ve got a better chance. But if you leave me with no choice I will have to explain to your sister that if she wants to stay at her fancy art school she will have to—’

‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ Megan jumped in, before her father could state the unthinkable. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’

Even if her best shot had very little chance of being a success, her pride and her ethics felt like a small price to pay to save her sister from heartbreak—and Whittaker’s from guaranteed annihilation.

‘Good girl, Megan,’ her father said. ‘Take the day off tomorrow. Annalise will accompany you to select an outfit suitable for the occasion and take you to her beautician to get you properly prepared.’

‘Okay,’ she said, feeling dazed at the enormity of what she had just agreed to—and how ill-prepared she was for the challenge. Annalise’s alluring sense of style and supreme sexual confidence had always intimidated Megan.

‘Don’t disappoint me. Whittaker’s is counting on you,’ her father finished, dismissing her as he turned back to the papers on his desk.

‘I know and I won’t,’ she murmured, trying to sound confident.

But as she returned to her small office on the building’s tenth floor, the pressure of what she had to achieve sat in her belly like a brick. An annoyingly hot brick seeping an uncontrollable and completely unregulated warmth throughout her body.

She didn’t feel confident; she felt like a sacrifice, about to be staked out in the wolf’s lair, with nothing to protect her but a designer gown and heels and an overpriced beautician’s appointment.

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO WAY, KATIE. You need to stay in your room when he gets here.’ Megan’s hand trembled as she picked up one of the diamond drop earrings Annalise had loaned her to match the sleek, blue, satin, floor-length gown it had taken her father’s mistress an eternity to select during their endless shopping expedition that afternoon. The sting as the thin silver spike penetrated the rarely used hole in her lobe did nothing to calm the rapid flutter of Megan’s heartbeat. She breathed deeply and picked up the other earring. She needed to stop hyperventilating or she was liable to pass out before De Rossi even arrived.

‘But I want to meet him, to make sure he doesn’t take advantage of you,’ Katie said, the fire in her eyes accompanied by a petulant pout. ‘He’s rich, arrogant and scarily gorgeous. You’ve got zero experience of guys like him. Did you see the cover shot of him on that boring business magazine you get? He even looks hot in one of those stuffy suits.’

Yes, she had seen the magazine, she’d even re-read the interview with De Rossi to give herself some useful topics of conversation. But all the article had really done—illustrated with all those photos of him looking broad and muscular and indomitable—was make her panic increase. And Katie’s misguided attempts to protect her were not helping.

‘What if he tries to ravish you?’ Katie added, the battle she’d been waging for the last two hours—to stand between Megan and De Rossi’s super-human seduction skills—starting to wear on Megan’s already frazzled nerves.

De Rossi was due to arrive in less than five minutes and Katie’s misguided reading of the situation was the last thing Megan needed. But she would never tell Katie the truth. That the only thing standing between them and financial ruin was Megan’s mission to seduce De Rossi—not the other way around—because that would only make Katie worry more about Megan’s date in the lion’s den. And Megan was already panicking enough for both of them.

She’d spent most of her life shielding her sister, ever since the day she’d stood beside a nine-year-old Katie at their mother’s graveside and held her as her little sister shed real tears for a woman who had abandoned them.

She was not about to stop now.

But sometimes shielding Katie from the realities of life could be very trying. Megan poked the second earring into her earlobe with an unsteady hand and absorbed the sting, attempting to tune out Katie’s next offensive.

‘I can’t believe you won’t even let me meet him. All I want to do is make sure he knows not to mess with you.’ Katie stood defiantly behind her, every sinew in her slim, coltish body fraught with challenge and righteous determination. ‘At least promise me you won’t let him lure you back to his love nest on Central Park West.’

‘His what nest?’ Megan would have laughed at the term, if her heart hadn’t just jumped into her throat.

‘Don’t look like that.’ Katie rolled her eyes, frustrated. ‘That’s what they called it in Giselle Monroe’s piece in the Post. Didn’t you read it?’

‘No, I did not, and you shouldn’t have either. It’s salacious gossip.’ The last thing she needed to read was the model’s kiss-and-tell account of De Rossi’s sexual prowess when she was nervous enough already.

‘According to Giselle,’ Katie continued undeterred, ‘the guy’s insatiable in the sack. He can make a woman—’

‘Katie, for goodness’ sake, shut up!’ She swung round on the stool. ‘I didn’t read it, because I didn’t need to. This isn’t a proper date.’ Even if the memory of one look from the man was still giving her goosebumps a month after the fact. ‘Dad asked him to escort me. He may not even turn up.’ The hope that he might have forgotten the arrangement had guilt coalescing in her stomach to go with the panic.

She was Whittaker’s only hope. She’d promised to do this thing, even if the computer codes buried in her purse were burning a hole in her conscience.

The sound of the front door buzzer made them both jump.

‘So he’s not gonna show, huh?’ Katie said, looking triumphant.

Megan cursed under her breath, and stood to check out her reflection. The gown was sleek and simple in its elegance, the bias-cut satin snug enough to enhance her curves without offering them up on a platter. Or at least, that was what Annalise had insisted.

Diamonds sparkled in the thin straps that held up the bodice, which plunged low enough to entice but not low enough to give Megan an anxiety attack. Yet. A faux-fur wrap to hold off the night-time chill in late April, and four-inch heels—which were as high as she could go without risking a twisted ankle—an elaborate up-do that held her unruly hair in some kind of order, a five-hundred-dollar make-up session and the delicate diamond drop earrings completed the outfit. Annalise had told her the ensemble screamed sophistication and purpose, rather than panic and desperation.

Megan wasn’t so sure.

She heard the front door of the apartment being opened by their housekeeper, Lydia Brady, and the low murmur of a deep masculine voice.

Awareness rippled up her spine and she grasped her sister’s wrists. ‘Stay here, Katie, I’m warning you. This is going to be humiliating enough without you there making me feel even more self-conscious.’

Katie pulled her hands free, the spark of defiance disappearing for the first time in hours. ‘Why would it be humiliating?’

‘Because I’m not his type and he’s only taking me as a favour to Dad.’

And Dad expects me to seduce him. Somehow. And then commit a crime to save Whittaker’s.

‘What do you mean, you’re not his type?’ Katie’s gaze travelled over Megan’s outfit, the appreciation in her wide green eyes making Megan’s heart pound even harder. ‘You look absolutely stunning. Just like Mum. I wish I had at least a few of your curves.’ She flung her arms around Megan’s shoulders, holding her tight for a few precious seconds. ‘You’re going to knock his designer socks off, you silly moo,’ Katie whispered in her ear, before she drew back. Warmth suffused Megan.

Even when she was being a pain in the backside, Katie was Megan’s greatest cheerleader and her best friend.

‘Which is precisely why you need me there to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas,’ Katie added, in case Megan hadn’t figured that out already after the four-hour campaign. ‘Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to threaten him with my kick-boxing skills?’

‘You gave up kick-boxing after two sessions,’ Megan pointed out.

‘What if I threaten to macramé him to death instead, then?’ Katie offered—probably only half joking. ‘I did a killer macramé piece for my course.’

The chuckle that popped out of Megan’s mouth was part gratitude and part hysteria. Whatever happened with De Rossi, her life was likely to be irrevocably changed once tonight was over. Because she’d either be in his bed, or in a prison cell. Her sister’s silly joke helped to ground her, though, and confirm what she already knew: that protecting Katie and her dreams, and protecting Whittaker’s, were worth sacrificing her self-respect and throwing herself at De Rossi tonight.

All Megan had to do was figure out how to do that without having a nervous breakdown.

Lydia Brady stepped into the room. ‘Mr De Rossi has arrived, Megan.’ The older woman smiled. ‘You look beautiful, dear.’

‘Thank you, Lydia.’ Nerves screamed across her bare shoulders, and the hot brick in her stomach sank lower.

Letting go of her sister’s hands, she walked towards the dressing-room door, affecting the expression she had practised in the mirror for hours last night. Polite, confident and, she hoped, at least a little alluring.

Her heels echoed on the marble flooring as she made her way down the corridor, but as she turned into the apartment’s plush lobby area all the air seized in her lungs and her steps faltered.

Dario De Rossi looked up from adjusting his cuffs, his crystal-blue eyes locking on her face like a tractor beam, and sending a sizzle of electric energy through her body.

The man looked devastating in a tux. Tall and broad, his powerful body only made more intimidating by the classic black tailoring, which emphasised the magnificent width of his shoulders, the leanness of his waist and the length of his legs.

How tall was he? At least three inches above her father’s six feet.

She took a careful breath and forced herself to carry on walking, grateful her wrap covered her cleavage when the assessing gaze roamed down, setting off a series of mini explosions and making her insides grow hot.

‘Buonasera, Megan.’

His English was so perfect, with only the slightest hint of his Italian heritage, it felt strangely intimate to have him greet her in his native language. The way the deep husky rumble of his voice skated across already oversensitive flesh, though, was not as disturbing as the dark flash of hunger in his eyes as she drew level.

‘Buonasera,’ she said, answering him in Italian automatically.

He lifted her fingers to his mouth, startling her, and pressed his lips to the knuckles.

The gesture should have been polite, gallant even, but for the way his thumb slid across her palm as he lowered her hand, sending arrows of sensation darting up her arm, and into her torso.

She tugged her hand out of his grasp, shocked by her response, as his gaze roamed up to her hair.

‘The colour is natural?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied, disconcerted by the approval shining in his eyes.

His firm lips lifted in a smile that managed to be both amused and predatory, as if he were a panther, toying with his prey.

‘I hope I did not offend you,’ he said, the intimacy of his gaze contradicting his apology. The bright blue gaze then dipped to her toes and back, sending seismic ripples over her skin and igniting every pulse point like a firework.

‘Relax, cara mia.’ The rough chuckle scraped across her nerve-endings.

A fiery blush crept up her neck. Was he mocking her?

She looked down at her hands, and forced her fingers to release their death grip on the diamond-encrusted purse. Annalise had told her that looking like a lamb being led to slaughter would not entice any man.

Breathe. Remember to breathe. Breathing is good.

But when she raised her head, he was doing that laser-beam thing again, as if he could see right through her—to the soon-to-be felon beneath.

‘I’m sorry, I’m tired,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve had a very busy day.’

Could she actually sound any more inane? Where was all the scintillating conversation about his business acquisitions that she had been working on for hours?

‘Doing what?’ he asked.

‘Shopping for this dress, mostly. And getting my hair and nails and stuff done,’ she replied honestly. Until today she’d had no idea that trawling the designer boutiques of the Upper East Side and spending four hours getting waxed and plucked and pampered to within an inch of her life was more exhausting than hiking up Kilimanjaro.

‘Have you, now?’ he said, the wry tone making her realise the statement made her sound like a spoilt debutante fishing for a compliment.

Humiliation washed over her.

She knew from the articles she’d devoured about him in the last twenty-four hours that he had been born into one of Rome’s most notorious slums. He had to know what true exhaustion was. Everything else about his origins was sketchy, something he refused to talk to the press about, but that simple nugget of information had only intimidated her more. She could well imagine how hard De Rossi must have fought to escape his origins—and how hard he would fight now to keep hold of what he had. And what he wanted to acquire.

Her skin burned, her nipples tightening as his gaze met hers. The cool blue was not as icy as she remembered it from their first brief meeting. His lips quirked.

‘It was time and money well spent,’ he said, the casual compliment making the flush flare across her collarbone.

Then, to her astonishment, he lifted a hand and tucked his forefinger under her chin. The soft brush of the knuckle was like a zap of electricity, firing down to her core as he lifted her face.

She stiffened, stunned by the enormity of her response to a simple touch. She struggled not to jerk her head away, to submit to the proprietorial caress, despite being brutally aware of the heat now blazing on her cheeks.

What was going on here? Because the amused quirk on his lips had disappeared. Why was he looking at her so intently?

He drew his thumb across her bottom lip.

‘You are very beautiful in your own unique way,’ he said, his gaze lifting to her chignon. ‘Especially that hair.’

He sounded sincere. Why did that make tonight seem all the more terrifying?

She forced a smile, trying desperately to pretend she wasn’t burning up inside. But she couldn’t resist the involuntary flick of her tongue to moisten lips dried to parchment. He focused on her mouth, and a soft indrawn breath escaped her at the hunger in his eyes.

‘The colour reminds me of a naked flame,’ he said. ‘I wonder if you’re as fiery in bed?’

The heat swelling in her abdomen settled uncomfortably between her legs at the boldly sexual comment. She ought to say something provocative back.

But she didn’t feel provocative, she felt stunned. And hopelessly aroused. And completely out of her depth. Already.

Dario De Rossi wanted her. And while that should have been very good news, because she was supposed to be seducing him, the power dynamic did not feel as if it was in her favour. Surely her thighs wouldn’t be trembling under that hard, heated gaze if it were? She searched her mind for something to say that wouldn’t clue him in to how inexperienced she was.

Annalise had told her in no uncertain terms that De Rossi would not find her gaucheness appealing.

Think, Megan, think. What would Mata Hari do?

‘That’s for me to know,’ she finally managed, allowing the desire her body couldn’t seem to control to show in her voice. ‘And for you to find out, if you dare.’

‘There’s not much I wouldn’t dare, cara,’ he said, the cynical edge in his tone disturbingly compelling.

His hand dropped, and she couldn’t prevent the tiny sob as her body softened in relief.

She was playing a very dangerous game. But she had no choice. She had to brazen this out, pretend she was much more knowing and experienced than she actually was.

Sweeping his hand out in front of him, he smiled, and she became a little fixated on those firm sensual lips.

‘Let’s get you to the ball, Cinderella.’

She pushed out a strained laugh and walked past him, only to tense as his hand settled on the base of her spine. Sensation flashed down to her bottom, but she carried on walking, acting as if the feel of his hand wasn’t burning through her clothing.

The ride down in the lift was excruciating, the deceptively light touch driving her insane. He kept his palm there the whole time, guiding her where he wanted her to go, and not letting her stray more than an inch from his side with the subtlest of gestures. But even so, the heat grew.

As they walked out of the apartment building, past the doorman, her nerves were screaming, the controlling pressure so light it was torture not to stretch against his hold. Her body waged a battle between wanting to kick off her heels and race away from him down the street, while another, much more elemental urge had her longing to ease closer to him and let the heat of his body overwhelm her.

The night chill caught her hair, making the tendrils the stylist had spent an hour carefully teasing out of the chignon dance against her neck. She shivered, the skin there already oversensitised by the feel of his gaze boring into her from behind.

The sleek black limousine was parked at the kerb, a man in a dark suit and a cap waiting for them. The chauffeur opened the door and tipped his hat, giving her a polite smile.

She eased into the shadowed interior, the split in the long skirt of her dress pushing open to reveal her thigh almost up to the hip.

She heard a gruff intake of breath. And had to tamp down on the desire to escape out of the other side of the vehicle. The cool leather pushed against the backs of her knees through the dress.

‘The guy’s insatiable in the sack…’

‘What if he tries to ravish you?’

Katie’s foolish observations came back to haunt her as De Rossi folded his big body into the seat beside her. His wide shoulders filled up the opposite side of the car and made the spacious, luxury black leather interior feel unbearably cramped and claustrophobic.

He leant across her to grasp the seat belt. She pulled back, his face inches from hers, his scent surrounding her. Sandalwood and musk and man. But as his eyes met hers he only smiled again and pulled the seat belt down to click it into place, his knuckles brushing her hip.

‘Why are you so skittish, Megan?’ he asked.

‘I’m just a little nervous, Mr De Rossi,’ she blurted out, then glanced around the car searching for a plausible excuse. She was supposed to be flirting with him, making him think she was available for a quick fling, not quaking like someone standing on a fault line. ‘About the ball. I don’t want to let my father or the company down. It’s my first time representing them at such a prestigious event.’ Which was actually true; ordinarily that responsibility alone would be reason enough for her nerves.

The warm proprietorial palm settled over her leg, and gave her knee a quick squeeze, touching her again in a way that made her feel owned.

‘My name is Dario.’ His jaw clenched and she noticed the bunched muscle, twitching. Was it possible she was affecting him as much as he was affecting her?

The thought thrilled her on some visceral level, but disturbed her more.

The possibility of playing him at his own game was almost as terrifying as the endorphins careering through her for the first time in her life.

‘We are on a date, remember,’ he murmured.

‘Thank you for agreeing to escort me,’ she said, finally remembering her manners. ‘It was nice of you.’

‘Nice?’ He seemed amused and surprised by the suggestion. ‘Not many women have accused me of that.’

She could well imagine. ‘My father really appreciated you doing us this favour.’ More than De Rossi would ever know. Hopefully.

‘There is nothing to appreciate,’ he said, cryptically. ‘I only do favours when I expect something in return.’

‘What do you expect from me?’ she said, then realised how suggestive it sounded a moment too late. ‘I don’t mean…’ she stumbled. ‘I just…’

‘I expect nothing from you, Megan.’ He cut into her rambling denials with the skill and precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel. ‘I did this favour for your father.’

Those staggeringly blue eyes studied her, the knowledge in them unnerving her even more. Sensation skittered down her spine, making her breath seize in her lungs, the car’s interior now devoid of oxygen. Did he know the real reason her father had asked him to escort her tonight? Was this charade already doomed to failure?

‘Don’t look so terrified, cara,’ he said, and she tried to school her features not to give away her fear.

‘I promise not to bite. Unless you want me to,’ he said, before touching the intercom button to inform the driver to proceed.

Pinpricks rioted over her skin as the car whisked away from the kerb and she imagined those straight white teeth nipping at all her most sensitive places.

She forced a smile, attempting to shake off the sensual fog he seemed to weave around her so effortlessly.

This was going to be the longest night of her life. Her physical reaction to him was too intense, too overwhelming. How was she supposed to survive an evening in his company without telling him every one of her secrets?

CHAPTER TWO

DARIO DE ROSSI WATCHED AS his date finally appeared from the bathroom on the far side of the ballroom. That was the third time in the last hour that she’d deserted him to go to the powder room. And freshen up, as she’d put it.

She didn’t need freshening up. Her dewy skin was lightly flushed, the colour riding high on those apple cheeks, on the rare occasions when she’d been close enough for him actually to see her face. And when she wasn’t in the powder room, she was engaged in the most vacuous of conversations with everyone but him, her light breathy laughter making every pulse in his body stand on high alert.

She was not what he had expected.

He had known, of course, the second that Lloyd Whittaker had approached him in the club yesterday morning and asked him to escort his daughter to the ball, that the request was part of the man’s last-ditch attempt to save his company. The fool had finally realised who was buying up his stock and had probably thought throwing his daughter at Dario would soften the blow. It wouldn’t be the first time a business rival had believed that he could manipulate Dario through his enjoyment of the opposite sex—or believed the garbage written about his love life in the tabloids. Giselle’s recent hissy fit in The Post hadn’t helped in that regard.

It also certainly wouldn’t be the first time a powerful man had used and degraded a woman he was supposed to love and protect.

The brutal flash of memory had his gut twisting sharply. He took a sip from the bottle of Italian lager the hosts had imported especially for him and waited for the sensation to pass, while he watched Megan Whittaker make her way towards him.

She took the most circuitous route through the crowd, he noted, stopping to talk to a series of her father’s acquaintances, every one of whom, Dario observed as his fist plunged into the pocket of his trousers, seemed to think it was okay to look down her cleavage.

The dress—plunging low enough at the neckline to leave not nearly enough to the imagination—had made his heart slam into his throat and dried up every molecule of saliva in his mouth when she’d walked down the hallway of her apartment. And quite literally taken his breath away when she’d eased onto the seat of the limousine and revealed a mile of toned, tanned thigh. Which had to be an optical illusion, because the woman, despite all those impressive curves, didn’t even reach to his collarbone in her ice-pick heels.

He downed the last of the beer, and dumped the empty bottle on a passing waiter’s tray, deciding that he’d let Megan off the leash long enough.

He’d only agreed to this date out of curiosity. Because he was bored. He’d wanted to see what foolishness Whittaker had planned—especially as he had remembered the daughter from a tedious event a month ago that he’d attended with Giselle. Strangely he had remembered her eyes, that deep intense green had captivated him, but only for a moment, before she’d ducked her head. She’d avoided him for the rest of the evening. So he’d found it amusing that Whittaker had decided to push her into his path tonight. To do what exactly? Seduce him into releasing his stranglehold on a company her old man had been running into the ground for years?

The idea was so preposterous he had been convinced it couldn’t actually be true. That such an apparently inexperienced girl should be used for such a purpose seemed beyond even Whittaker’s ability to mismanage the situation. But he’d decided to play the scenario out, mostly for his own entertainment. He’d had no date for the ball, Megan Whittaker had already intrigued him, and he would enjoy proving that he was not the barbarian her father obviously assumed him to be. He was perfectly capable of resisting the charms of any woman—even if he hadn’t had one in his bed for over a month.

But then his date had surprised him. Stunned him even. And he didn’t like to be surprised, much less stunned. She was nervous, yes, and had an artlessness about her, which might have been why he had considered her so inexperienced a month ago, but beneath that was an awareness, a physical response to him that was so intense and unguarded it had done a great deal more than simply captivate or intrigue him.

He didn’t like it. He hadn’t expected to want her. Or certainly not this much.

But now he had to decide what to do about it.

If Whittaker had sent her on some cock-eyed mission to seduce him, he wasn’t about to take advantage of that. But on the other hand, if her response to him was genuine, why shouldn’t they enjoy each other for an evening? She couldn’t possibly be that inexperienced. She was twenty-four, well-travelled, and she’d dated at university in the UK, according to the background check he’d had done by his friend Jared Caine, the owner of Caine Securities. And he’d felt the way she’d stretched against the palm he’d rested on the slope of her back as they’d left her apartment—like a cat desperate to be stroked.

She wasn’t an accomplished flirt, but her instinctive response to a simple touch suggested a rare chemistry. What if she was as wild and vibrant as that russet-coloured hair if he got her into bed?

He hadn’t had such a basic reaction to a woman in years, maybe never. He liked sex, he was good at it, but something about Megan had sunk claws into his gut, tearing at his self-control, which he was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore.

He’d sensed her nervousness in the car, so he’d backed off when they’d arrived at the ball, deciding to observe her, and give himself time to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do about the driving need inside him.

But that had obviously been a mistake, because all it was doing was frustrating him more. Truth was, he hadn’t expected the avoidance tactics, but as he watched her pause to strike up a conversation with Garson Charters, the senile old judge who seemed to be as fixated on his date’s cleavage as every other man in the place, Dario knew that was exactly what her frequent trips to the powder room were about. She was wary of him, not all that surprising if her father had told her to come on to him.

The conniving old bastard probably expected her to wheedle information out of him about their business dealings.

So now he had two choices: he could escort her home, or play with the fire between them regardless of her father’s ulterior motives. Whatever happened, though, backing off wasn’t an option, because it went against every one of his natural—and a few unnatural—instincts.

He heard the string orchestra in the adjoining ballroom start up a waltz as he marched through the throng of guests sipping champagne and whispering loudly, and made a beeline for his date.

Her head popped up as he approached, almost as if she had a radar ready to alert her to his presence at a ten-metre radius. Her gaze locked on his for a millisecond and then flicked away, but not before he saw the jolt of awareness cross her features.

Her hunger was as real as his.

She said something to the elderly judge, who still had his beady eyes focused on her cleavage, then began to edge past the guy, heading back towards the bathroom.

No way, not this time.

He caught up with her in a few strides and hooked her wrist, drawing her to a halt. ‘Not so fast, cara. Where are you going?’

The colour in her cheeks deepened, her eyes widening like those of a startled deer. The smoky perfection of her make-up and the hint of glitter on her eyelids did nothing to mask the unguarded sparkle of awareness in the emerald-green gaze.

‘Hi, Dario,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I think I left something in the restroom.’

‘What did you leave in the restroom?’

She scraped her teeth over her full bottom lip, for less than a second, but it sent a shot of heat straight to his crotch.

‘Um…my…’ She paused, obviously casting around for something.

Unlike her father, she wasn’t an accomplished liar.

He stowed the thought. She might be Whittaker’s daughter, but he’d seen little evidence this evening of any deviousness on Megan’s part. She couldn’t even seem to flirt with any degree of sophistication—her desire for him as blatant as her nerves whenever he got within a few feet of her. He could feel the slight tremors in her arm and the pounding beat of her pulse beneath the fingers he had on her wrist.

‘Whatever it is, it will be fine in the restroom until after this dance,’ he said, linking his fingers with hers as he made his way towards the dance floor in the adjacent ballroom.

She followed behind him as they weaved their way through the crowd, her reluctance palpable. Almost as palpable as the quiver of reaction in her fingers. He clasped her hand harder, not sure why he was seeking to reassure her.

‘What dance?’ she gasped. The confusion in her voice was almost as much of a turn-on as the tremor in her fingers.

He drew her into the ballroom and swung her into the crowd, deftly joining the other dancers as he lifted her arm high and then placed his other hand at the dip of her waist. ‘This dance.’

She matched her steps to his instinctively. He gave her waist a light squeeze, leading her effortlessly into the turn, and dragged her closer. ‘Put your hand on my shoulder, Megan,’ he ordered, pulling her easily into his body, until the length of her pressed against him from shoulder to hip. Those impressive breasts plumped up against his chest.

She did as she was told.

He swallowed around the renewed jolt of lust, willing his crotch to behave itself. At least until they were off the dance floor and he could get her somewhere private. His decision had been made.

Playing with fire it is, then.

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN WAS IN TROUBLE. In big, broad, six-foot-three trouble. And she didn’t have any viable strategies left to get her out of trouble.

Because her first and only strategy, of hiding in the bathroom until she came up with a better strategy, had just gone down in flames, even though De Rossi had been surprisingly co-operative at first.

But now that strategy had crashed and burned. And she was far too aware of him to come up with another. The deliberate beats of the waltz reverberated in her ears, the sprinkle of light from the chandeliers dazzling her as he swung her around with practised ease.

With his body plastered against hers, she felt overwhelmed by the heat coming off him, the bunch and flex of his shoulder muscles as she clung to the fabric of his tuxedo; and the flare of arousal in his darkened pupils—all proof she wasn’t the only one caught in this maelstrom.

His big body surrounded her, his heady scent frying the few functioning brain cells she had left and sending her hormones into meltdown. She could hardly breathe, let alone think.

The hard planes of his chest pressed against her breast as he whisked her round again. And she stumbled. His muscular forearm braced across her back, lifting her off the floor for a beat.

‘Steady,’ he murmured against her hair as her heels clicked down on the polished parquet. ‘Follow my lead.’

She surrendered as he propelled her round the dance floor, past the envious stares of the women around her. He looked magnificent, lean and graceful in the tuxedo but with that air of raw, rugged masculinity that made the other men stand back.

She felt light-headed, her caution and control obliterated under the tractor-beam gaze she’d felt on her all evening, even when she was busy scurrying off to the bathroom for the umpteenth time.

The music swirled around them, the twinkle of light above them as they weaved in and out of the other dancers disorientating her. It was as if she were in the heart of a kaleidoscope, the colour and light dazzling her and leaving her dazed. Every inch of her skin stretched tight over her bones, so that she could feel each millimetre that touched his: the controlling press of his large palm on her hip, the rise and fall of his breathing, slow and steady against her own ragged pants; the thud of her heart, audible above the glide of cello strings marking the beat.

At last the music ended and he came to a halt. She stepped back as he let her go. Grateful for the space, even if his scent still enveloped her.

‘You dance very well.’ She forced the words out. Wondering if inane chatter might be a viable strategy.

‘Do you wish to leave?’ he replied.

Obviously not.

‘Yes.’ The word popped out on a breathless sigh.

He took her hand to lead her off the dance floor. A few people tried to waylay them, but he marched past as if he hadn’t noticed. Maybe he hadn’t, but she had. She felt as if she had a sign on her forehead—‘woman being claimed’.

Her father’s suggestion came back to haunt her. He’d wanted her to seduce this man, and she’d agreed to try, but why did what was happening now feel as if it had nothing to do with her father, or Whittaker’s, or even rescuing Katie’s dreams?

She wanted De Rossi for herself. No one else.

Her pulse battered her collarbone, her fingers clasped tightly in his rough palm, the prickle of awareness shooting all over her body. He paused briefly to pick up their coats from the cloakroom attendant at the entrance to the elaborate Westchester town house where the ball was held.

The chauffeur-driven car was waiting at the kerb as they descended the steps. Megan’s heels clicked on the paving stones like gunshots, shooting down the last of her caution and control.

Dario didn’t wait for the driver but pulled the door open himself. The dark interior beckoned, but she held back, scared to take the next step.

If she entered the car, this man would be her first real lover. And while that hadn’t felt like an event of any significance up to this second, it felt significant now. Obviously this was just lust, some pheromonal trick her body was playing on her. She wasn’t a hothead like Katie, and she wasn’t a romantic either. She didn’t need the conceit of hearts and flowers to justify a purely physical urge. But she’d never had this urge with any other man. And because of that, she couldn’t do this thing while there was still so much deception between them.

‘Get in the car, Megan,’ he murmured, his voice deep with purpose. ‘Or I’m liable to do something that is going to get us both arrested.’

She turned to find herself surrounded by him again, his arm braced against the roof of the car, her back flush against the door frame; she could feel the thick ridge touching her belly through their clothing.

‘I can’t… I have to tell you something first.’

‘If it’s about your father, and the reason he set up this date, don’t bother. I already know.’

‘You do?’ She pressed a palm to his chest, shock overlaid with bone-deep relief.

The clatter of his heartbeat through the starched linen felt like a validation, silencing the cacophony of objections in her mind. He was as blown away by their chemistry as she was. That was all that mattered, surely? If he knew about her father’s plan, this wasn’t seedy, or underhand, or unethical. It was nothing more than two healthy adults fulfilling a need.

He nodded, his dark hair shining black in the streetlamp. ‘Tell me, are you here for him, for his company, or for me?’

‘I…’

For me. I’m here for me.

But even as the truth rang in her head, she couldn’t voice it. Paralysed by words whispering across her consciousness from another April night, spiced with the juniper scent of gin and selfishness, the words her mother had whispered to her before she left. The last words her mother had ever spoken to her.

‘I have to leave with him, baby. He makes Mummy so happy. Daddy will understand eventually.’

‘I… I can’t,’ she finally blurted out.

She didn’t want to be like her mother, she couldn’t be. Maybe she had the same biological urges, urges she’d tried to deny for so long, but she couldn’t sleep with her father’s enemy and do nothing to try to save him.

‘Why can’t you?’ De Rossi asked.

‘Because it would kill my father if you destroyed Whittaker’s.’

The dark scowl on Dario’s face would have been frightening, if she still had some control of her faculties. Instead it only seemed to spike the fire in her blood. Would a man as ruthless in business as Dario consider changing his mind? Would he stop his pursuit of her father’s company for her? Did he want her that much?

‘I promise you, I have no intention of destroying your father’s company.’ He ground the words out.

She tried to control the foolish spurt of emotion at the concession. But she couldn’t help it. As smart and sensible and grounded as she had always been about life and business, and as aware as she was of De Rossi’s ruthlessness, and his cynicism, she was still moved that he would give her this, because she’d asked it of him.

‘Grazie,’ she said.

His brow quirked, then his lips tipped up in a feral smile that should have been terrifying but was instead terrifyingly exciting.

‘Don’t thank me yet.’ He gave her a firm pat on the backside. ‘Now get in the car.’

She laughed, she actually laughed, as she scrambled inside. All the stresses and strains of the last twenty-four hours floated off into the Manhattan night as the car sped through the evening traffic towards his home—his love nest—on Central Park West.

Whittaker’s would be saved. Her father could stop freaking out about losing the company that had been in their family for generations and she could have this night of erotic exploration with a man who made her blood bubble and fizz beneath her skin, without a single regret.

It took ten minutes to drive through the moonlit park, a few hardy and fearless joggers still peppering the well-lit streets as they passed Belvedere Castle’s fairy-tale turrets. Megan felt almost as fearless as those intrepid joggers when the car drew to a stop and Dario got out. He hadn’t spoken during the journey, and neither had she. But the fever of anticipation stirring her blood made her fingers shake as he helped her out of the car.

‘So this is your love nest?’ she said.

‘My what?’ he asked as she tilted her head to take in the two towers of the art deco building, the ornate and opulent architecture a luxury statement from a bygone era.

But the laugh at his puzzled expression got trapped in her throat as he escorted her into the building, past the doorman and a receptionist, until he reached the antique lift. The intricate iron filigree gates opened as the uniformed operator beckoned them inside.

‘Good evening, Mr De Rossi.’ The man in his late-fifties tipped his hat at Megan. ‘Miss.’

‘Buonasera, Rick.’ Dario’s tone was clipped, his hand gripping hers so tightly she could feel her pulse punching. ‘This is Megan Whittaker.’

‘Nice to meet you, Rick,’ she said, her voice distressingly husky. Heat scorched her neck. How many other late-night lovers had Rick been introduced to on their way up to Dario’s love nest?

The term felt quaint instead of romantic—which was for the best, she decided. She wasn’t here to make love, but to have sex for the first time.

Suddenly the enormity of what they were about to do occurred to her. They hadn’t even kissed yet. What would that firm sensual mouth feel like on hers? How would his body look naked? She assessed the width of his shoulders in the perfectly tailored designer coat. He was a well-built guy; what if all of him was as generously proportioned? Would it hurt?

Should she tell him she’d never actually gone all the way before?

Her pulse rabbited against her collarbone as she watched the gold arrow above their heads swing in an arc signalling the floors.

Despite the antique design, the lift whisked them up to the twenty-sixth floor without a single creak. Too soon, and yet not soon enough. Dario bid the operator goodnight and led her into a palatial lobby area. Fresh flowers stood on a side table, the only touch of softness against the sleek modern lines.

Shrugging off his coat, he dumped it on an armchair, then lifted her wrap off her shoulders. Despite the warmth pumping out of a central air system, she shivered.

Callused hands settled on her bare shoulders and he turned her to face him.

His handsome face, rigid with desire, should have frightened her, at least a little bit. But somehow it felt compelling, for him to want her so much. His thumbs glided over her collarbone. His fingers curled around her nape with exquisite tenderness. And trapped her in place. Then his lips. Firm, sensual, and unapologetic, slanted across hers, triggering a tsunami of sensation.

Her breath got trapped somewhere around her solar plexus. The hard, unyielding line of his body imprinted itself on her curves, making her want to yield. Instead of demanding or devouring, his lips were coaxing, gentle, until her mouth opened on a huff and his tongue plundered.

He explored, exploited, taking control of the kiss. Shivers of awareness reverberated in her core, then his fingers fisted in her hair to angle her face so he could go deeper, take more. Her heart beat violently against her ribcage, like the wings of a trapped bird trying to escape. She plastered herself against him, absorbing the heat of his body, and kissed him back, her tongue darting out to duel with his. The sudden feeling of weightlessness was as terrifying as the desperate flare of longing, the shocking well of desire surging up her torso to obliterate everything but the sight, the sound, the taste of him. Earthy and raw and so staggeringly real.

The kiss could only have lasted for a few moments, but still she staggered, unsteady on her feet, when he lifted his head abruptly. His brows lifted, his eyes flaring hot, and she wondered for a second if he were as stunned as she was by the intensity of feeling that had passed between them.

Taking her hand, he led her down the corridor and into a huge, double-height room. A majestic sweep of stairs led to a mezzanine level, the deep leather sofas along the back wall the only furnishings. Huge floor-to-ceiling leaded windows looked out over the dark expanse of Central Park, the lake and the twinkle of lights from the East Side skyline beyond.

She could see her own reflection in the mullioned glass, her breath heaving in and out, her satin curves shimmering in the light from the hallway as he stood behind her. He glided his thumbs under the gown’s diamanté straps.

‘Yes?’ The low question shattered the silence.

‘Yes,’ she managed around the thickening in her throat.

He eased the straps over her shoulder blades. The rasp of the gown’s zip seemed deafening. Satin caught at her waist, and then slid down to pool around her feet, revealing the lacy royal-blue lingerie Annalise had insisted on buying to go with the gown.

Her breath hitched painfully as she heard the click of her bra releasing. He dragged the lace straps off her shoulders to slide down her arms. Her heavy breasts were released from their confinement. His lips caressed her neck, suckling on the pulse point as his hands covered the swollen mounds, his fingers circling her nipples.

Sensation tugged at her sex as he rolled the rigid peaks between thumb and forefinger, plucking then squeezing. Her knees went liquid, and a strong arm banded around her waist to hold her up. Her pale flesh shone white against his darkness.

His lips caressed the side of her neck as he growled. ‘I can’t wait any longer to have you.’

She pulled away and turned to face him. Her pulse was going berserk. She dragged a precious lungful of air into her lungs and tasted him, the subtle aroma of sandalwood and clean laundry detergent.

His thumb skimmed her cheek. The gentle touch had all her nerve-endings springing to high alert.

No man had ever looked at her with such hunger in his eyes. She absorbed the heat and intensity and it felt like a benediction, a celebration of everything she was that she had always been terrified to admit to.

The heat between her legs melted into a puddle of need, making her skin sensitive and her senses alert to the scent and taste of him, the rough sound of his breathing.

She squeezed her thighs together. ‘Neither can I,’ she said.

Dario stared at the girl in front of him—an artless seductress whose acute awareness of his touch had been torturing him all evening.

He had become spellbound by his own lust. He’d never wanted a woman this much, so much he wasn’t sure he could be gentle—and that frightened him. He could actually read every one of her emotions as they flitted across her face, her attempts to wrestle them under control almost as bewitching as the hard peaks of her breasts, which begged for his mouth.

Need coiled hard in his gut, the pounding in his crotch unbearable.

He cupped her breast. She jolted but didn’t draw away.

‘Are you sure, cara?’ He wanted no lies or obligations between them. He’d promised not to destroy her father’s company. But it had never been his intention to destroy it, only to take it from the man…tonight, when the final deal with the last of Whittaker’s shareholders went through at midnight.

‘Yes,’ she murmured.

He threaded his fingers in her hair, loosening the up-do. As the soft, silky strands teased his fingertips, her scent curled around him, fresh and vivid, and heat powered through his body. Her eyes widened, her breathing coming in harsh pants now. And he knew she felt it too, that tug of yearning, the driving need to finish what they’d started.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, mesmerising him, and calling to every one of his baser instincts, instincts he’d spent a lifetime trying to control.

Need overwhelmed him as he lifted her into his arms. Placing her on the couch, he lowered his head, unable to resist the pull of that lush mouth a moment longer.

He heard the soft gasp, tasted her excitement and her trepidation. It could only be a trick of the night, this veneer of innocence. No woman could be innocent and drive him this insane, but even so he enjoyed the challenge as he coaxed and cajoled, tempting her with his tongue.

Her lips opened at last on a shuddering sigh. His tongue swept into her mouth, exploring. Then she began to explore back. Tentative at first, then bold. Matching his hunger with her own. Driving them both mad. She tasted glorious, sweet and eager and new.

Her fingers glided beneath his jacket to cling to his waist. Heat slammed into him. He lifted himself up, yanking off his jacket and flinging it on the floor, pressing her back into the cool leather. Lifting her hands above her head, he bracketed her wrists in one hand to palm the pouting tip of her breast.

The nipple poked against his palm, standing proud as she arched her back, her breathing coming in desperate gasps as she pressed into the caress. He circled the tight bud, all thoughts of caution obliterated by her seductive response.

He trapped the peak between his teeth, tonguing it and then sucking it into his mouth. She sobbed something incoherent in the darkness, the desire in her voice rasping across his skin and sending the need spiralling out of control.

He wanted her, more than he’d wanted any woman, her artless response tapping into some primal desire to claim her, brand her, devour her.

‘Please, I can’t…’ She jolted against him.

‘Shh…’ he crooned, desperate to relieve the throbbing ache in his crotch. She wanted him just as much. He could feel it in her body, which was tight as a bowstring, and in the staggered rise and fall of her breathing; he could see it in the flush of arousal spreading across the delicate skin of her collarbone.

‘That feels so good—’ Her voice choked off as he sucked the nipple against the roof of his mouth, tugging hard. She jerked against his hold, and pulled her hands free to plunge them into his hair.

The thin thread on his control snapped, primal desire charging through his system. Damn thought and sense and reason and anything that would stop him from making her come apart in his arms.

The madness to have her consumed him. He inhaled the delicate floral fragrance, like a narcotic drug. Pressing the heel of his palm between her thighs, to test her readiness, he felt her warm and wet through the lace. She quaked with need, daring him to take her, claim her, control her. Here. Now. And satisfy the need driving them both insane.

He plunged beneath the damp fabric of her panties, circling the tight bud. She cried out, bucking against the intimate touch. But the slick folds told a different story. She needed this. Needed him.

Ripping her panties, he grasped her thighs, spreading them wide to press the aching ridge against her centre.

‘Let me have you,’ he growled, the ferocity of the demand foreign to his own ears.

She looked dazed, her eyes unfocused, but she dropped her head in the tiniest hint of a nod.

The madness took over. He grappled with his zip and released his erection, then, positioning himself against the swollen folds, he thrust hard.

But as he surged deep, he heard the cry of pain against his neck, felt the tiny barrier, before she tightened on him like a fist.

He stopped dead.

He was buried to the hilt, the orgasm already licking at the base of his spine. But the hot clasp of her body was so tight. Too tight.

‘What the…?’ He swore viciously, shocked and sickened by the evidence of her innocence. ‘You are a virgin?’ he said, the shock only countered by the fierce unstoppable desire to move, to finish.

Megan buried her face in his neck, her whole body reeling from the shocking invasion. It had been so good, so bright, so beautiful, but now she felt impaled. He was too big, filling up every space inside her, all those empty places that had ached for so long.

She stiffened as he shifted, the thick heat branding her insides, stroking a place so deep inside, it spun her mind away from coherent thought again and back towards that glorious heat that had consumed her just moments ago.

‘Cara…’ He cradled her cheek. ‘Answer me. Why you did not tell me I am…your first?’ His perfect English seemed to have deserted him, the words clumsy, those deep blue eyes alive with stunned disbelief and raw aching need.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not sure why she was apologising, but he looked so horrified, she didn’t know what else to say.

He held her hips, easing back, withdrawing that glorious heat. She gripped his buttocks, felt the muscles jump.

‘Don’t stop. It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t. And it feels good.’ It didn’t exactly; it felt sore, and overwhelming.

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ He bit out the words, torn between temper and what sounded like torment.

Why did this matter to him so much? She wanted to ask.

But what she wanted more was for the bright, beautiful feeling to return. So that she felt empowered and special, not crushed and broken.

‘I’m not fragile. I won’t break,’ she said, determined to make him believe it.

He swore softly in Italian, his fingers holding her thighs, poised at her entrance. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

She nodded, unbearably moved by the torment in his voice. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

He sank back into her to the hilt.

Her breath clogged in her throat. She could feel him everywhere, the stretching feeling unbearable again, but with it came the swift surge of pleasure as he nudged a place deep inside. He rocked his hips, and nudged it again.

‘Si sente bene?’ he asked, his English apparently having deserted him entirely.

‘Yes, it feels good,’ she said as the pleasure began to build in fierce undulating waves, sweeping away the pain, the confusion, until all that was left was the glorious swell of ecstasy, pure and perfect. The sensitive tips of her breasts rubbed against the hard contours of his chest through his linen shirt, sending arrows of sensation surging into her sex.

The slick sounds of their bodies slapping together, the scent of pheromones and sweat heavy on the air, the soft bump of her spine against the leather, faded into the background until all she could hear were the pants of her breathing and the grunts of his. He established a punishing rhythm, forceful, relentless, unstoppable. Then reached between them to press his thumb to the heart of her.

The huge wave crested, her whole being now focused on the burning core of her body, clambering for release.

She held on to him, terrified, frantic and overjoyed, all at the same time. He grew to impossible proportions inside her, his thrusts jerky and uncoordinated in their desperation.

She rode on that high wide plane between intense pleasure and unbearable pain for what seemed like an eternity, but could only have lasted a heartbeat. And her body soared.

Her thin cry cut the still air as the wave crashed over her, overwhelming in its intensity, and his shout of release echoed in her ear, the hot seed searing her insides.

What the hell just happened?

Sensation came back in small increments as Dario waited for his heart to stop battering his ribs like a wild stallion trying to kick its way to freedom.

The sultry scent of orange blossoms and sweat, the weight of her hands on his waist, the clinging cotton of the shirt he hadn’t bothered to take off. The tight clasp of her surrounding him as the iron-hard erection finally began to soften and the ache in his groin subsided.

He buried his face against her neck, the soft skin damp and fragrant, and felt the hummingbird flutter of her pulse, as wild and erratic as his own.

He couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, grateful for the shadowy light as they lay cocooned together on the couch.

He’d had good sex before. Hell, he’d had spectacular sex before. He’d never had sex like that before, or an orgasm so intense it had felt as if it were ripping out a part of his soul.

Who is this woman? And what has she done to me?

He eased up on his elbows and felt her flinch beneath him. The sob of discomfort whispered against his face, making shame twist in his gut.

She had been innocent, and he’d ravished her like a man possessed. Not only that, but he had taken her without protection. Spilled his seed inside her. He should have stopped, withdrawn, but she had transfixed him somehow. And he had been unable to focus on anything but her. And the need to possess her.

Why hadn’t she told him? She should have told him she was a virgin. He would never have—

Stop lying to yourself.

No force on earth would have stopped him, once she had given him her consent and unleashed the wild hunger inside him.

He climbed off her, careful not to jostle her. He couldn’t make out her expression in the shadowy light, but he could see the tremors raking her body.

Lush and lovely, her pale skin looked somehow ethereal in the soft glow of light from the lobby. He felt the renewed stirring of desire, and shame mixed with anger in his gut.

You are not an animal.

The admonition seemed like another lie though as he zipped his trousers and walked to pick up the jacket he had discarded. He returned to the couch to find her seated, her arms wrapped around her waist. He laid the jacket over her shoulders, and drew her close under his arm.

‘Why are you shivering? Are you cold?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.

She had to be sore, but was she also scared of him?

He tucked a riotous curl behind her ear, relief assailing him when she turned to him and smiled. The urge to kiss her gripped him again at the guileless tilt of her lips.

He resisted it. Not a good idea, given that kissing her would lead to other, more dangerous pursuits.

‘No, I’m not cold. I just… I think it’s a reaction…’ She hesitated, biting down on that full bottom lip that had driven him wild, was still driving him wild. He forced himself to look away from her mouth.

‘A reaction to what?’ he prompted, determined to distract them both with conversation. He didn’t usually like to talk much after sex, but this was different. He’d never been a woman’s first before. It wasn’t a responsibility he wanted or would have chosen, but he felt it nonetheless.

‘A reaction to…’ She hesitated again, but she didn’t look embarrassed or unsure, just as if she were searching for the right words. ‘Well, the orgasm, I guess. It was pretty intense. You’re much better than my vibrator.’

The chuckle rumbled up from his chest, part amusement, part desire, but mostly relief. Her blunt honesty was ridiculously charming, especially when she blushed.

‘Grazie, that is quite a compliment,’ he murmured.

She gave a shy smile, looking embarrassed now but also amused. ‘Sorry, I’m not very good at this.’

He looped the wayward curl behind her ear again, let his thumb linger on the smooth skin of her jaw, the laughter dying on his lips. ‘On the contrary, you are very good at it, especially for someone with so little practice.’

The blush climbed up to her hairline, but she seemed pleased with the compliment. He felt a strange sensation in his chest and dropped his hand. What was he doing? Behaving like a besotted fool, when he needed to make sure that there would be no fallout from his irresponsible behaviour.

‘Megan, we must talk about practicalities.’

‘What practicalities?’ she said, the guileless expression making him feel uneasy. Could anyone really be this innocent? Was this whole scenario some kind of set-up? Had Whittaker been devious enough to offer up his virgin daughter as a means of trapping him?

‘I did not use a condom,’ he said bluntly. ‘Are you on the pill?’

The flush fired across her cheeks and her eyes widened. Either she was an actress worthy of an award, or the shocked reaction was not faked.

‘No, I’m not, I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

‘There is no need for apologies.’ He cut off her stumbling words, feeling oddly ashamed at the cynical direction of his thoughts.

Megan Whittaker was that rare thing, a person as genuine as they appeared to be—just as he had originally suspected.

‘We are both responsible for the error,’ he added. ‘I am clean, I have a regular check-up and testing for my company insurance—and I never usually have sex without protection,’ he continued, suspecting the threat of disease was probably the reason for her horrified reaction. His conquests after all had been well documented in the press, and made to seem much more indiscriminate than they actually were. Because, until Megan, he had always chosen his sexual partners with exquisite care. Which was precisely why he had never found himself in this position before. ‘If you need proof,’ he said, when she didn’t respond, ‘I can get my doctor to contact you.’

‘No, that’s not necessary. I trust you,’ she said, marking out her innocence even more. He wanted to tell her not to trust him, not to trust any man, but before he could find the words she added, ‘I don’t either, by the way… Have sex without protection, I mean. Just in case you were wondering, and were worried too.’

The gauche statement was so earnest, his lips tipped up in a wry smile. ‘With your vibrator, you mean?’

‘Um, well…’ The blush intensified on her cheeks, before she buried her hands in her face and groaned. ‘Oh, God, I feel like such a clueless muppet.’

‘Not at all, piccola.’ He laughed, he couldn’t help it; her found her reaction charming. ‘We do still have one problem though,’ he said, sobering. ‘When did you have your last period?’

‘Oh, I…’ She raised her face, the blush still burning brightly. ‘About a week ago. I think.’

‘Then we are not quite in the middle of your cycle,’ he said. ‘But you should take emergency contraception. Yes? As a precaution.’ He watched her intently for her reaction to the request, his anger at himself increasing. What would he do if she refused?

‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll go to a pharmacy.’ She jumped up from the couch, her panicked reaction easing the tension in his gut. ‘I better go now. I’ll need to find an all-night pharmacy. I don’t even know if you can buy it across the counter.’

‘Megan, there is no need to panic.’ He rose from the couch too and tucked a knuckle under her chin. Raising her face to his, he touched his thumb to her mouth, the heat powering through him surprising him. ‘And stop biting your lip. Or I will not be responsible for the consequences.’

She released her lip instinctively. ‘But I should go, Dario. I need to get the contraception. I don’t want…’

‘You have up to a week to take it.’

‘I do?’

‘I believe so. Don’t look at me like that, piccola.’ He smiled again, captivated once more by how easily she was to read. ‘I promise you, I don’t make a habit of making love without contraception.’ The truth was he had never made this mistake before, even as an untried boy, but she didn’t need to know that. ‘But I am a cautious man.’ Or he had been until now. ‘As I have no desire to father a child.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She nodded, her cheeks still as bright as beacons. ‘I’m sorry, I’m making a hash of this, aren’t I?’

‘Not at all. This is new to you, I understand.’

She shuddered slightly, his tux jacket dwarfing her as she tucked her arms into the sleeves and held it close. ‘I should probably leave now anyway though. I’ll make sure I go to a pharmacy first thing in the morning.’

She was correct, of course, this had just been a chance for them to slake the lust that had sparked between them as soon as they had met.

But as she stood before him, beautiful and beguiling in the half light, he knew the spark hadn’t yet been extinguished. And tonight would be their only opportunity, because he would not be contacting her again.

In a few hours, his agents would complete the hostile takeover of her father’s company, giving their encounter a one-night embargo.

It was of course dishonest of him not to clarify his earlier statement about Whittaker’s, so there could be no confusion about what he’d meant. But he didn’t mix business with pleasure. And for that reason, he did not feel guilty for giving her the cryptic answer he had. What happened in the boardroom had no bearing on relations in the bedroom—or rather the couch. What had passed between them, however wild and uncontrolled, could never be more than a physical attachment after all.

Once she discovered the truth, she would be upset. She might even feel he had got her here under false pretences. After all, his reply to her request had been deliberately ambiguous. But as his gaze drifted down her bare legs and he remembered the sweet shudder of her release, the feel of her thighs clasping his hips as she came, he knew he didn’t want their one night to end so soon.

In fact, he almost felt regretful that she would no doubt hate him in the morning.

She picked her gown up from the floor and clasped it to her chest. ‘Is there somewhere I could wash up,’ she said, looking shy again and unsure.

He walked over to her, his mind made up. They would have this night.

He would show her the finesse, the reverence he had failed to show her so far. She deserved better than a frantic romp on a couch. He wasn’t a romantic or a sentimental man, but he was a good lover.

The last of the shame drained away. He could keep the wildness in check; he would not ravish her again.

‘There is no need to leave,’ he said, tugging the cool satin out of her hands.

‘But I…’

He placed a finger on her lips. ‘No buts. We have all night. Why not let me show you all the other things your vibrator cannot do for you?’

The blush intensified, and he found the lightness, the laughter threatening to roll up his torso again. Not a response he was used to when in the process of seducing a beautiful woman.

No wonder this woman was so damn captivating. She was simply the opposite of his usual type. Her uniqueness would wear thin quickly enough, but he was enjoying himself for now. And he planned to enjoy himself a lot more tonight. While making sure Megan enjoyed herself too, of course. She might hate him in the morning, but eventually she would thank him for showing her that sex was much more enjoyable when not compromised by emotional entanglements.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ He cradled her cheek, enjoying the way she leant into his palm instinctively. And her pupils darkened dramatically. Did she know he could see exactly how much she wanted him?

‘Because, to be perfectly honest, I’m a little sore.’

The delightfully gauche statement, delivered with complete sincerity, had him throwing back his head and laughing out loud for the first time in longer than he could remember.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, grumpily.

He scooped her up into his arms.

She grabbed hold of his neck, her frown of protest only making him laugh harder as he headed to the stairs and the deluxe king-size bed and lake-size bath with power shower he planned to make good use of in the next few hours.

He placed a kiss on her forehead, enjoying the feel of her bottom against his forearm. Why not keep her naked and wanting the rest of the night?

Why had he never considered before how arousing it would be to help a woman discover the frontiers of her own pleasure?

‘Do not look so worried, cara mia,’ he said as he took the stairs two at a time. ‘There are many ways to make love, not all of them require penetration. Clearly your vibrator does not help with this either.’

‘I wish I’d never told you about my vibrator,’ she said. ‘Now you’re never going to stop making fun of me.’

‘I am not making fun,’ he said, although of course he was. ‘But I do intend to remedy the situation. With your permission?’

She huffed out a breath, but the excitement and arousal dancing in her eyes told a different story, especially when she tightened her grip on his neck and said, with mock severity, ‘Oh, all right, then—if you insist.’

CHAPTER FOUR

DIDN’T THE MAN EVER EAT?

Megan stared at the dazzlingly clean and startlingly empty shelves in the huge double wide fridge. Apart from a couple of bottles of pricey mineral water, a bottle of expensive champagne, some imported Italian lager, some milk and an untouched box of expensive chocolates, there was nothing to eat. She searched the cupboards a second time. Nope, still nothing there except some strong Italian coffee.

She turned in a circle. The oversized Italian football shirt she’d fished out of a drawer in Dario’s walk-in closet skimmed her bare thighs as she took in the acres of granite and polished steel. The tingle of sensation as the material brushed her nipples had a memory flushing through her. Of Dario ravishing her breasts in the shower.

Moving swiftly on.

She concentrated on the sun, which had begun to climb over Central Park, shining off the lake and adding to that magnificent view. She’d woken up with Dario’s big body wrapped around hers in sleep. He’d tucked her against his chest after he’d brought her to a stunning orgasm for the fourth time in one night… She lifted the glass of mineral water she’d poured herself from the meagre supplies in the fridge and took several gulps to ease the dryness in her throat.

Dario De Rossi a snuggler. Who’d have thought it?

She smiled to herself, feeling a little giddy. It was a Saturday, so she didn’t need to go to work today. She knew her father would want her to call him to confirm if she had discovered anything, but there would be no need for that now. Dario had told her he wasn’t going to go after Whittaker’s. Maybe he had never intended to.

But unlike last night, she didn’t feel the need to run off and hide. He’d been so solicitous after they’d made love that first time. And so devoted for the rest of the night. He’d soaked with her in the bathtub, then done things to her body that had proved that, yes, vibrators could not replace a flesh-and-blood man.

The sex had been hot, intense and unbelievably intimate. But she had adored every minute of it. Was this what her mother had been so addicted to? Now she understood. Something fluttered in her chest. Something sweet and seductive and more than a little bit silly.

She set about figuring out the state-of-the-art coffee maker and ignored the feeling. Their liaison was unlikely to last past this morning—so there was no point in getting carried away. She needed to be pragmatic. Really, she ought to be heading home. She had to find a pharmacy en route and take care of the practicalities—as Dario had put it. Her cheeks heated as she recalled their excruciating conversation from the night before. Her hand strayed to her belly. And she wondered, just for a split second, what it would be like to have the child of a man like Dario De Rossi.

Not going there.

She shook off the foolish, fanciful thoughts and let her hand drop.

She didn’t want Dario’s baby. She didn’t want anyone’s baby. She was fairly sure she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, any more than her own mother had been. And if by chance Dario’s seed had found fertile ground last night, she would remedy the problem as soon as she got back home. But first she needed coffee.

She concentrated on filling the machine’s in-built grinder with coffee beans. It didn’t take long to have the strong, chicory scent filling up the kitchen. If only she had more clothing, she could pop out and get something for breakfast. She liked to cook. And she felt she owed Dario. He’d made last night magnificent. And she hadn’t exactly held up her end, so to speak. She frowned as she poured a steaming cup of coffee into one of the demi-cups in the cupboard. He’d been so controlled, so focused, it had been flattering and exhausting and beyond amazing. But somehow the times after that first time hadn’t felt quite as, well, quite as equal. She’d felt oddly like a pupil, being played by a master. Her attempts to touch him, to caress him, to drive him crazy back, rebuffed.

‘I’m impressed.’

She jerked round, sloshing hot coffee over the counter, to find Dario standing behind her, his broad, muscular chest making her pulse race. He wore a pair of sweat pants low on his hips—revealing the most mouthwatering V she had ever seen in her life—and nothing else. His olive skin was deeply tanned, even down to the line of his low-riding pants. His dark hair stood up in clumps on one side of his head, but unlike her hair—which probably resembled Frizz City this morning—the rumpled, just-out-of-bed look only made him sexier. Add that to the jaw sporting a five o’clock shadow that had given her whisker burn in some interesting places last night, and the man wouldn’t have looked out of place in a million-dollar cologne ad.

‘Still skittish, Megan?’ His sensual lips tipped up on one side in a boyish smile as he leant past her to pour himself a mug of coffee and the giddy feeling in her chest fluttered again.

She breathed in his scent, the sandalwood aroma a brutal reminder of everything they’d got up to together in the shower.

‘You have a habit of creeping up on me,’ she said in her defence, but she smiled. Had she actually spent all night in this man’s arms? This god among men? No fair.

He laughed, that deep rusty chuckle that had enthralled her last night, when she’d had the oddest sensation that he didn’t laugh nearly often enough. It had made her feel special. When she knew she wasn’t. But still.

‘Why do I impress you?’ she asked, shamelessly fishing for a compliment.

The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled, as if he knew exactly what she was up to. ‘You figured out the espresso machine without an hour-long tutorial.’

She laughed and glanced back at the complex contraption. ‘It’s not that hard for a computer geek.’

He sipped his coffee, hummed low in his throat, the sound sending the familiar pinpricks darting down to her sex. Heavens, she was a hopeless case.

‘Sexy and smart and a great coffee maker.’ He leant down to kiss her, the teasing licks sending her senses reeling, his rich coffee taste making the hunger in her gut intensify. But as she opened her mouth to take him in, he pulled back.

‘Damn, what do you do to me, piccola?’

Little one.

He’d used the same endearment last night. It was probably something he called all the women who slept with him. It didn’t make her special or different—she needed to remember that. But even so, the deep blue of his irises seemed to sparkle just for her when he said it. This playful, provocative side of him made her feel as if she was getting a glimpse of something he never showed to anyone else.

‘Nothing you don’t do to me,’ she replied, because it was true.

‘Hmm, I doubt that,’ he said enigmatically, before he walked round and perched on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter.

‘I thought I could cook us breakfast, before I go,’ she said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘But you don’t have any food.’

‘I use a caterer when I entertain. Otherwise I eat out.’

‘I see.’ Although she didn’t really. Surely for any house to be a home, you had to eat in occasionally? ‘Well, I guess I should be going, then.’

‘There is no need to leave yet. I can get groceries sent up. I like the idea of you cooking me breakfast.’ He glanced at her shirt. ‘Especially in my Roma shirt. Maybe I will ravish you afterwards on the countertop.’

The arrogantly male statement and the wicked intention in his eyes should have unsettled her, but instead it only excited her. But then every damn thing about the man turned her on.

‘If you’re going to be a caveman about it, I may have to rescind my offer,’ she teased back.

‘We will have to see if I can persuade you,’ he said and she knew she was sunk. They both knew her resistance when it came to him was zero. ‘How much time do you have?’ he asked.

She glanced at the clock on the glass wall next to the eight-ring cooker…that he never used. And blinked, shocked to realise it was inching towards ten o’clock. She had to get back to her apartment before Katie woke up. Katie was not an early riser on a Saturday when she didn’t have to go to college, thank goodness. But she didn’t want her sister asking probing questions about where she’d been all night. And she definitely didn’t want her finding out about the morning-after pill debacle—which meant making sure she bought it and took it before Katie got out of bed.

‘I didn’t realise it was so late,’ she said, unable to keep the regret from her voice. ‘I really need to go home and change and handle the other…um…practicalities we talked about last night.’

‘This is a shame,’ he said, and seemed to mean it—which didn’t help with the giddy flutter in her chest.

But then her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up. A message from her father.

What the hell happened with De Rossi last night?

Guilt washed over her as she glanced up at Dario. Her father sounded as if he was freaking out again. This couldn’t be right. Dario had told her he wasn’t pursuing Whittaker’s, that there would be no takeover.

‘I should probably take this,’ she said.

A strange chill settled in her stomach as she walked to the other side of the room and texted her father back.

Don’t panic Dad, everything’s okay. Dario assured me he’s not attempting a takeover. I spoke to him.

She stared at the text, then quickly scrolled back to delete Dario and replace it with Mr De Rossi. Then she pressed send. She’d done a lot more than speak to Dario, but her father did not need to know that. Their liaison had nothing to do with the company. Not now.

The reply came back within seconds. And the sinking feeling in her stomach became a black hole. The vicious words felt like a punch in the gut she couldn’t defend herself against.

Stupid little slut! You slept with him, didn’t you? After he stole my company. You’re no better than your bitch of a mother.

‘He shouldn’t say such things to you.’

She swung round to find Dario watching her, his expression grim. She whipped the phone behind her back, humiliated and sick at the same time. Had he read that?

‘He’s upset. I think… He’s under a lot of stress at the moment,’ she said, instantly jumping to her father’s defence. He didn’t mean to be cruel. He wasn’t a bad man, just an extremely stressed one. ‘But I should go, and explain things to him. He’s obviously got the wrong end of the stick. He thinks De Rossi Corp is involved in a hostile takeover. And obviously that’s not the case, because you promised me yesterday you have no interest in Whittaker’s.’

Dario took the phone from her and grasped her hand to lead her to one of the kitchen stools. ‘Sit down, Megan. I need to explain something.’

She sat down. Confused now and wary. Why did Dario look so serious? Where had the sexy man of a moment ago gone to? The man who had worshipped her with his mouth, his hands, his body, last night? And why had her father texted her so viciously? None of it made any sense. The company wasn’t under threat; it had all been a misunderstanding of some sort.

‘Megan, you must understand, I never mix business with pleasure.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up, it’s just he texted me and I—’

‘You misunderstand me.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Last night was about us enjoying each other, not about your father, or his company.’

‘I know that, but you promised me that—’

‘What I promised you was that I would not destroy Whittaker’s. That is what you asked me and I answered truthfully.’

‘I know, and that’s good.’

‘I have no plans to destroy it. Because, as of last night, I now own it.’

She blinked rapidly, the black hole in her stomach opening into a huge pit. A huge gaping pit full of vipers. As he continued to speak in that calm, pragmatic voice, his words became barely audible above the hissing in her head.

‘Whittaker’s is still a viable company with the right management. It is a heritage brand with excellent prospects. The right management, though, is not your father. E-commerce is the way forward. He has refused to develop that side of the business to any great degree. I only asset-strip companies that have no future.’

He had taken the company away from her father.

He hadn’t lied, but he had been economical with the truth. And she’d fallen for it. Because she’d wanted to. She’d heard what she’d wanted to hear in his qualified denial, because she’d wanted him. Her father had every right to call her a slut. Because that was exactly what she was. She’d put her own pleasure above the good of the company. The good of the family. Just like her mother.

Tears stung her eyes, making her sinuses throb. She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t deserve that indulgence. She had to get back to her apartment, get changed and then go to see her father and try to make this right. She and Katie had the money from their mother’s trust fund, but her father administered it. He was bound to withdraw Katie’s tuition now, to punish Megan for this folly. For this betrayal.

She sniffed, struggling to pull herself together, to ignore the hollow ache in her gut. The same sick feeling that had paralysed her the night her mother had left, when she was convinced her mother’s departure was somehow her fault, because she hadn’t been a good enough daughter.

She clambered off the stool, but as she tried to walk past Dario he held her arm, and pulled her round to face him. ‘If you are angry with me, you should say so.’

‘I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. I’ve betrayed a man I love and now I have to tell him what I’ve done and hope he doesn’t hate me.’

‘Why would you love a man who speaks to you like that?’ He sounded annoyed. She didn’t understand.

‘Please, I have to go.’ She tugged out of his grip, and rushed over to pick up her gown. She would have to wear it home. The walk of shame really did not get any worse than this.

‘He doesn’t deserve your loyalty,’ he said, the cynical edge in his voice cutting through the last of her defences. ‘No man does who would use you in such a way.’

But you used me, too.

She pushed the self-pitying thought to one side. Dario hadn’t used her, he had taken what she had offered freely. But even so, she couldn’t bear to look at him as she took off his football shirt and slipped into the satin sheath. She should have been embarrassed that he was watching her. That having those eyes on her, cool and blue and full of heat, still aroused her. But she was way past embarrassment—everything she had ever known or believed about herself and her own integrity ripped to shreds.

She deserved her father’s scorn.

‘We slept together,’ she said, pushing her feet into the torturous heels. ‘I made a choice to sleep with you. It was the wrong choice. I see that now. I let what I wanted get in the way of what was right.’

Not only that, but she’d allowed herself to believe that a man as ruthless as Dario would put his desire for her above a business deal.

She wasn’t just a clueless muppet. She was a hopelessly naïve and narcissistic clueless muppet.

‘Don’t be foolish,’ he demanded. ‘This isn’t about right or wrong. Or you and me and what we did together last night. This is about your father and his inability to run a company competently. The two circumstances are not related.’

‘They are to me.’ She picked the wrap up from the floor of the living room and took one last glance at the wide green canopy of Central Park. There would be families down there, on this bright spring day. Families who loved and respected each other. But her father would never respect her again. She’d failed him. Failed herself. Thanks to her hunger for a man who was so far out of her league it was ridiculous.

He snagged her arm again. ‘This is madness, Megan. We satisfied a perfectly natural urge last night. Nothing more. There is no need to punish yourself.’

She shook her arm free, blinking furiously to stop the tears from falling—because she would feel even more wretched if he ever found out the truth.

That somehow during their wild night together, she had come to believe she and Dario were doing more than just satisfying a perfectly natural urge.

‘I have to go.’

She rushed down the long corridor towards the door, pathetically grateful he didn’t try to stop her. The sound of her heels clicking on the inlaid wood flooring mocked her. Along with the scattershot beats of her heart. And the nausea rolling in her belly.

As she took the lift down, she felt sick at her own stupidity.

But as the cab drove away from the art deco apartment building, she also felt a strange sense of pity. For Dario.

Because for all his wealth and power, for all his good looks and potent sex appeal, his indomitable confidence and charisma, it was clear he did not understand the importance of family.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘MEG, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?’ Katie pounced on her forty minutes later as she let herself into their apartment.

‘Oh. My. God. You spent the night with him, didn’t you?’ Katie hissed as she took in the creased satin gown, the haphazard wrap, and the hastily knotted bundle of frizz on Megan’s head. ‘Sheesh, is that whisker burn on your cheek?’

Megan placed a hand over the raw skin, ashamed all over again. ‘I can’t talk about it now.’ Or ever.

Her head hurt, the deep ache matched by the smarting pain in her tear ducts from the disastrous end to her wild night with Dario De Rossi—and all the tears she refused to shed.

That was nothing though compared to what the company would face now. She would lose her job, and she’d deserve it. A part of her—the small, sane part of her that could still think straight—had reasoned that it wasn’t her fault De Rossi had targeted Whittaker’s, or that her father’s wild scheme to discover Dario’s intentions through some sort of computer hack wouldn’t have made a difference. But even so, she felt unbearably guilty. For sleeping with a man who had destroyed what her family had spent years building.

‘Actually, you don’t have to talk about it, I already know…’ Katie grabbed her hand, and tugged her into the alcove off the hallway. ‘Dad’s here, and he’s behaving like a lunatic. He called you all sorts of horrid names and dismissed Lydia. Just sacked her on the spot.’

‘Oh, no.’ Was Lydia going to be made to pay for her mistakes too?

‘Did he say anything about your tuition?’ Megan asked, praying that she might be able to limit at least some of the damage.

‘Yeah, he’s pulling the plug on that. You could have told me he was paying for it,’ her sister said, but she didn’t look nearly as devastated as Megan had expected.

‘Don’t worry, Katie, I’ll find a way to fund it.’ Somehow.

‘Forget it, I’ll figure out a way to fund it myself,’ Katie said dismissively. ‘Believe me, that’s the least of our worries. We have to deal with Dad first. I think he’s lost his marbles. I’m not kidding. He’s been ranting and raving about Mum, and you and De Rossi. He’s behaving like King Lear on a bender. I think he’s on something. He’s dangerous.’

‘What?’ The vice around Megan’s temples tightened.

‘I tried to call you, to warn you.’ Katie’s head swivelled round to peek past the column that edged the hallway and gave her a direct view of the living-room door. ‘But I kept getting the answer-machine.’

Because Megan had switched off the phone when she’d left Dario’s—too much of a coward to bear her father’s wrath before she had to. She’d delayed the inevitable still further by stopping at a pharmacy en route. But the chemist’s judgmental look as she’d bought the emergency contraception in a crumpled satin ball gown had been more than enough of a guilt trip to remind her of all her transgressions.

‘Don’t worry,’ Megan murmured wearily. She really didn’t need Katie’s ongoing battle with their father resurfacing and turning this crisis into a catastrophe. ‘Dad’s mad with me, that’s all. I did something he may never forgive me for…’ Just the thought of that had the guilt clawing at her insides like a rabid dog. ‘He’s lost Whittaker’s.’ Of course her father was distraught. He must have just found out about the takeover when he’d texted her this morning. ‘But he’s not going to hurt either one of us.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Katie whispered, her eye darts and head swivels becoming increasingly frantic. ‘Please, you have to go. Don’t let him catch you here. He smashed up the living room already. You have to run away and hide until he calms down. I can stall him. He hardly knows I exist. He won’t hurt me. But you…’

‘Megan, get in here now!’

Katie shuddered as their father’s voice boomed down the hallway.

Weariness and regret added to the guilt tying Megan’s stomach into tight greasy knots. But as she went to step into the hallway to face her fate, and the dressing-down she no doubt deserved, Katie grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t go, Meg. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you? He’s nuts.’

‘He’s not nuts,’ she said, although he did sound a bit deranged. But losing a company that had been your father’s, and his father’s before him, could probably do that to any man. ‘And he’s not going to hurt me.’ Their father had always been distant, preoccupied with the company and his commitment to making Whittaker’s a success, but he had never raised a hand to either one of them.

She dislodged Katie’s fingers from her arm and walked down the hallway to the living room. The first shock came when she walked into the room. For once, Katie hadn’t exaggerated. The room Lydia Brady always kept so spotless looked as if a hurricane had hit it. The photos of her and Katie growing up that she’d framed and hung on the walls had been smashed. A table had been up-ended, leaving fresh flowers crushed and water splattered over the broken glass, but it was the wanton destruction of one of Katie’s artworks—the beautiful painting was lying in tattered pieces across the floor—that shocked Megan to the core.

Her father stood by the window, with his back to her. She had expected him to look bowed, to look devastated, had been willing to apologise profusely and then try her best to soothe and persuade and maybe even come up with some kind of solution, if he would let her. But when he turned, his fists clenched at his sides, his usually perfect appearance horribly dishevelled, he didn’t look sad, or angry, he looked wild; the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

‘About time the little slut got home.’ He strode across the room, the broken picture frames cracking beneath his shoes.

Megan stepped back, the pain in her temples screaming now. He leant past her and slammed the living-room door shut on Katie, who was hovering outside the room. Then propped a chair against the door knob.

‘Daddy?’ Megan said, the first darts of fear combining with the guilt sitting like a lump of lead in her stomach.

The blow came from nowhere, cracking in the air like a missile shot. She reeled backwards, the pain excruciating as it exploded in her cheekbone.

‘You stupid bitch! I’m not your daddy. I kept you two around because I had to—’

She scrambled onto her hands and knees, ignoring the pain in her jaw, the prickle of glass in her palms. He stood over her and hit her again, his fist knocking her shoulder and forcing her down. His foot glanced off her hip then caught the hem of her gown, the blue satin now spattered with blood. Was that her blood?

The metallic taste permeated her mouth.

She couldn’t move, the gown twisted around her legs. She could hear her sister’s cries, the pounding of her fists against the blocked door.

‘Megan? Megan? Answer me, are you okay?’

She tried to shout back, but no sound would come out, the scream locked in her throat as she rolled and saw her father, standing over her, yanking the belt out of the loops on his trousers. He flexed it, snapped it against his palm, as if testing it.

‘It was a condition of the damn trust fund your slut of a mother left you.’ He was talking, his voice tight with bitterness, but so calm, almost conversational, unlike the wild light in his eyes.

Katie was right. He had gone mad.

‘I’m calling the police.’ Katie’s muffled shouts came through the door. ‘Hang on, Megan. I’ll get help.’

She heard Katie’s running footsteps retreat into silence.

Run, Katie, run. Don’t come back.

Her mind screamed as her father ripped away the wrap she had clutched in one hand, then wheeled his arm back. She rolled onto her front, so as not to take the blow on her face.

Pain sliced across her back, the leather biting into her shoulder. She raised her hands, trying to protect her head and the belt cut into the skin of her arm.

‘Please, stop.’ The plea burst free of the blockage in her throat.

‘You deserve this, Lexy,’ he screamed her mother’s name. ‘You did this to me.’

Megan curled into a ball, trying to escape the barrage of blows. His grunts of exertion, the brutal slap of leather against skin, the scent of lemon polish and blood swirled around her, retreating into darkness, nothingness.

Dario’s face appeared, the memory sultry and vivid.

What do you do to me?

The jagged pain in her heart was the last thing to fade as she fell down, down—away from the agony, and the shouts of her mother’s name over and over again—into a safe place where no one could find her. Unless she wanted them to.

CHAPTER SIX

‘COULD YOU INFORM Miss Megan Whittaker I’m here to see her?’ Dario announced to the officious-looking building receptionist.

He didn’t like the way Megan had run out on him. He needed to speak with her again. She hadn’t done any of the things he had expected of her. He’d been prepared for temper, recriminations, even a guilt trip for deliberately misleading her. He had been ready for all those things and had had all the arguments on hand to explain to her, sensibly and dispassionately, why she was wrong to have read too much into their liaison.

But she hadn’t done any of those things. And he couldn’t get the picture of her, looking devastated and furious, not with him, but with herself, out of his head. It was foolish of him to feel guilty. He really had nothing to feel bad about. But still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed her at least a visit.

The memory of her sobs of fulfilment, her sighs of pleasure, her body so sweet and trusting nestled in his arms all through the night, couldn’t quite allow him to leave it the way it had ended.

He didn’t have to explain himself. They were adults, consenting adults, and everything they’d done together during the night had been mutually pleasurable. But still he felt responsible.

‘I’m sorry, sir, there’s no answer from the apartment.’ The receptionist frowned, the officiousness dropping away to reveal concern. ‘Which is odd, because I saw Miss Whittaker go up there ten minutes ago and I know Mr Whittaker and Katie are there, too.’

‘Try it again,’ he said, the back of his neck prickling.

Something wasn’t right. The lift pinged and out of it flew a girl dressed in skinny jeans and a scanty top that left her belly bare. ‘De Rossi!’ she yelled, racing down the steps leading to the lift and coming to a shuddering halt in front of him. ‘You have to rescue her! He’s going to kill her, and it’s all your fault!’

She grabbed a fistful of his sweater, the fear in her eyes, deep green eyes so like Megan’s, searing him to his soul.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded as he marched towards the lift. But he had already guessed. The prickles became a swarm.

‘What’s wrong, Katie?’ the receptionist shouted out, jettisoning the formality as she confirmed that the frantic girl was Megan’s younger sister.

Dario broke into a run, stabbing the lift button ahead of the girl, who shouted to the receptionist, ‘Call the police, Marcie. And an ambulance.’

‘Which floor?’ Dario demanded as they entered the lift together. Cold hard dread gripped his insides—as the memory of another time, another place, assaulted his senses.

Megan’s sister punched the button herself. And kept stabbing it as the doors closed, tears streaking down her face now.

‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ she said in a broken mantra.

‘Stop it.’ He gripped her shoulders as the lift travelled up to the tenth floor, her fear forcing him to push the flood of memory and his own terror back.

She collapsed against him, her whole body shaking, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Burying her head against his chest. ‘Thank God, you’re here. I couldn’t get the phone to work in the apartment.’

He rested his palms on her thin shoulders, drew her away, her blind faith in him almost as disturbing as his own irrational fear. ‘When we get there, you need to show me where they are.’

‘He’s locked the door. I couldn’t get in.’

The lift finally arrived at the floor. She charged out ahead of him, leading the way to an open apartment door. He heard the sounds first, the rhythmic thuds. He raced down the hallway, kicking open the door the girl indicated at the end with all his might.

The wood shattered and the door flew inward. The explosion of sound startled the man inside, his fist raised, a belt wrapped around it.

Whittaker.

But then Dario saw the woman curled in a foetal position at Lloyd Whittaker’s feet. And his mind stalled, the horror gripping his torso so huge and all-consuming he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything but the terrified screams in his own head.

‘Wake up, Mummy. Please wake up, Mummy.’

‘Megan!’ The scream from behind him shocked him out of his inertia. The fear was replaced by a feral rage that obliterated everything it its path. Until he couldn’t see Lloyd Whittaker any more, or the young woman he’d held in his arms all through the night. All he could see was the man he had fought so many times in his nightmares.

His fist connected with Whittaker’s jaw and pain ricocheted up his arm. Whittaker flew backwards and crumpled into a heap, the one punch sending him sprawling into an already broken table, which shattered beneath his weight.

Dario wanted to follow him down, to keep on pounding until the man’s face was nothing more than a bloody pulp, but the small mewling cry, like a wild animal caught in a trap, stopped the rage in its tracks.

He watched Katie crouch beside her sister. Megan’s beautiful gown, the one he’d eased off her body last night, was torn, the red welts of Whittaker’s belt scoring the delicate skin of her shoulders and back.

‘She’s hurt.’ Katie’s cries pierced the fog in his brain, dulling the choking fear, the incandescent rage. ‘He hurt her. I hate him.’

The fury finally dissolved into a mist—the surge of adrenaline retreating to leave Dario feeling hollow and shaky. He knelt on Megan’s other side and gathered her into his arms, determined to concentrate on the task at hand.

They had to get Megan downstairs, to an ambulance. She needed medical care.

Her fragile body curled into his chest as trusting as a child, the bodice of her dress drooping to reveal the dark blue lace that had captivated him the night before.

Ave, o Maria…

He prayed to the virgin mother, the prayer that had been drilled into him as a child by his own mother as he carried Megan’s unresisting body through the wreckage of the apartment.

This is not your fault. You are not responsible for the behaviour of a madman.

He kept repeating the words in his mind, his throat dry, his knuckles raw, his arms trembling as he used every ounce of his strength to keep the dark thoughts under control.

As he held her in the lift—Katie stroking her hair and begging her to be okay—Megan shifted in his arms.

He thanked God and all the saints.

‘Cara, can you hear me?’ he asked, gently.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the vicious mark reddening on her cheek making the rage and pain gallop back into his throat.

‘Stai bene, piccola?’ he said, and willed her to be all right.

Please let her be okay.

‘Grazie.’ Her bruised lips tipped into a shy smile—guileless and innocent. She winced, as her eyes closed again.

And the crippling guilt he had been holding so carefully at bay stabbed him right through the heart.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘WE’VE PUT HER into an induced coma, Mr De Rossi. The CT scan was inconclusive and we want to be certain there is no swelling on the brain from the head injury she sustained during the assault.’

Head injury?

The doctor’s words whipped at Dario’s conscience.

He hated hospitals—the chemical aroma of cleaning fluids and air freshener almost as disturbing as the feeling of powerlessness. He’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes to see the doctor, his self-control on a knife-edge for a great deal longer—ever since the paramedics had whisked Megan away from him in the foyer three days ago.

After watching Whittaker being treated by paramedics and then taken away in handcuffs, he’d spent hours dealing with his team of lawyers and the police to ensure any assault charges against him would be dropped. He’d then spent further hours being questioned as a witness to Whittaker’s assault on his daughter. And after that he had been forced to give a press conference, the media swarming around the hint of a juicy story like flies on a rotting carcass. There had already been a barrage of reports on the Internet, and photographs of him and Megan dancing at the Westchester and their subsequent departure. All of which had fuelled speculation about how Megan had ended up being rushed to hospital the next morning, and how her father had ended up in handcuffs.

As soon as the press conference was over, Dario’s first instinct had been to rush to Megan’s bedside at the exclusive private hospital in Murray Hill where he’d insisted she be transferred to avoid the press hordes. But he’d forced himself not to give in to that knee-jerk reaction.

Going to see Megan in the hospital would only increase the press speculation about them, he’d reasoned. He and Megan were not a couple, they were never meant to be anything more than a one-night stand—and, despite the horror of her father’s attack and his own cursory involvement in it, he was not responsible for her.

But after he had been waiting three torturous days for news of Megan’s recovery, Dario’s ability to be patient and circumspect about the situation was at an end.

He wanted to know what the hell was going on, because the reports he’d been getting had been inconclusive, contradictory and wholly unsatisfactory. She should be awake and lucid by now, surely?

Unfortunately, the decision to go to the hospital and see for himself how she was had not helped calm his temper in the slightest—because he’d been thwarted by a brick wall of white coats and medical jargon as soon as he’d arrived and now the good Dr Hernandez, all five feet nothing of her, was the last straw.

‘I wish to see her,’ he reiterated.

The truth was, he had to see her, to be sure she was okay. The faraway look in her eyes, that bruised cheek and bloodied lip, the welts left by her father’s belt on her shoulder blades had been tormenting him for days. He needed to touch her, feel her skin warm beneath his fingers, before he would be able to breathe again.

‘Her sister is her only authorised visitor, Mr De Rossi.’

‘Is Katie with her now?’ he asked.

‘No, I insisted she went home to rest.’

‘Then Megan’s alone?’ He didn’t want her to be alone. What if she woke and no one was there? Wouldn’t she be scared after everything she’d been through?

‘Miss Whittaker is still unconscious and will remain so, until we’re ready to bring her out of the induced coma later today.’ The doctor continued dispassionately, ‘But when that happens I am only going to authorise close family to visit her.’

And of course she had no other family than Katie, and her bastard of a father. Every protective instinct Dario possessed, instincts he’d never even realised he had, rose up inside him. They had been as close as any two people could get four nights ago, but he could see that wasn’t going to wash with Dr Hernandez.

‘I am paying for her treatment. I insist on seeing her.’

Maybe it was irrational, the fear that had gripped him ever since he’d stormed into her apartment building to find her being brutalised by her father, but he couldn’t wait to see her any longer.

Dr Hernandez drew herself up to her full height, which did not reach his chin, and levelled a sanguine look at him. She didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

‘This isn’t about what you want, Mr De Rossi. It’s about what’s best for my patient.’

‘And leaving her alone is best for her?’ he demanded, his frustration increasing. This woman hadn’t seen her curled on the floor like a terrified child.

‘That doesn’t alter the fact that you’re not related to her, Mr De Rossi, and I can’t authorise a—’

‘We’re engaged,’ he said, grasping at the only connection he could think of to give him the access he needed. ‘And I’m not leaving until I see her. Does that alter things?’

The doctor’s features softened and she gave a weary sigh. ‘Okay, Mr De Rossi, you can see her when she wakes up. But that could be a while.’

‘I’ll wait.’

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her white coat, the sympathetic look annoying him more. ‘Why don’t you go home first and get some rest? You look exhausted.’

Of course he was exhausted; he hadn’t slept for three damn days. ‘I’m not leaving.’

‘It could be several hours before your fiancée wakes up.’

The quaint, romantic term gave him a jolt, but he ignored it. Seeing Megan was the only way to make the anxiety that had been lodged in the pit of his stomach ever since the attack go away. ‘And I intend to be here when that happens.’ On that point, he refused to budge.

If he returned to his penthouse, the memories of that night would be waiting for him. Memories he couldn’t seem to shake. The sweet sighs of her release, the hours spent touching and tempting her. And worse still, if he closed his eyes, the nightmares would chase him. He would see her bruised and battered body, feel her dead weight in his arms as he carried her into the lift, trying not to hurt her more.

‘Then sit down before you fall down,’ the doctor said, not unkindly, indicating one of the waiting area’s leather armchairs. The pity in the woman’s warm brown eyes added discomfort to his frustration—and the dazed feeling that had started to descend without warning.

‘I’m not going to fall down,’ he said, locking his knees, just to be sure.

‘Good, because I have no intention of catching you,’ the doctor returned. Gripping his elbow, she led him to the armchair she had indicated. ‘What Miss Whittaker needs now most of all is rest,’ she added, her voice floating somewhere over his head and not quite coming into complete focus any more. ‘She’s suffered a terrible trauma.’

‘I understand that,’ he said, his knees giving way as the adrenaline that had been charging through his veins for days finally deserted him. ‘Which is why I intend to stay.’

‘I suppose it can’t do any harm to have her loved ones close by.’

Her loved ones?

The doctor’s softly spoken words made no sense.

But as she left the room Dario sank his head into his hands. He raked his fingers through his hair and gripped his head to stop it dropping off his shoulders. He didn’t have time to worry about the doctor’s misconceptions. He’d said what he had to say to give him the access he needed.

He had to make sure Megan was okay. And that Whittaker paid for his crimes. Then he would be able to forget about the attack—and get a decent night’s sleep again.

His smartphone buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket. He scrolled through the list of missed calls and texts. His gaze snagged on Jared Caine’s text.

Saw the news. Nice work knocking that creep unconscious, buddy. Here if you need me.

The simple, succinct message made his chest tighten—which had to be the exhaustion.

He and Jared were friends. They went way back. Ten years back to be exact, to a dark rainy night in the West Village—when Dario had been a twenty-year-old Italian upstart with a fledging investment corporation making a name for itself on Wall Street and Jared had been a fifteen-year-old street punk who’d made the mistake of trying to pick another former street punk’s pocket.

Dario had taken Jared under his wing after that night because the boy’s cynicism and street smarts, his thirst for something better in life and his too-old eyes, had reminded Dario of himself.

But somewhere in the last decade, as Jared had forged his own path, shearing off all but a few of his rough edges, to become a smart, erudite and ambitious security advisor with a growing portfolio, Dario had come to rely on the younger man’s friendship and loyalty.

And right now he could use Jared’s professional help, because his buddy owned and operated one of the best, and certainly the hungriest, private security and investigative firms in the city.

Dario keyed in a quick text, requesting a meeting soon to discuss Whittaker’s case. Not that Dario didn’t trust New York’s Finest, but the NYPD didn’t have the resources of De Rossi Corp. Dario wanted Megan’s father prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

He had seen the look in Whittaker’s eyes when he’d punched him. He knew exactly what that wild glassy sheen indicated. And if the fifty-something CEO had a substance-abuse problem he had managed to keep secret, there would no doubt be other stuff they could use to crucify him.

Jared’s reply came back.

I’ll get working on it. Then we can arrange a meet at my place. More private.

The tightness in Dario’s chest eased.

He laid his head back against the armchair, his galloping pulse slowing to a canter, but blinked to keep the foggy feeling at bay.

No sleep yet, not until he’d seen Megan. And assured himself once and for all she was okay.

Because only then would he be able to get the picture of her cowering at Whittaker’s feet, beaten and brutalised, out of his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE COULD HEAR VOICES.

The first was her sister’s.

‘Meggy, please come back, you have to wake up now.’ She could hear the panic and fear in Katie’s voice. But she didn’t want to come back just yet. Couldn’t she stay here?

But then she heard another voice, much lower and more assured, which didn’t plead, it insisted.

‘Open your eyes for me, cara.’

She frowned. She wanted to be a little bit annoyed. Why did she have to come back? Staying where she was felt so much easier. But that voice, it was so compelling. It made her feel important. Significant. Special. It sounded so sure. And so safe. And so deliciously seductive.

The tingling sensation in her fingers became something more. A ripple of sensation. Warmth spread over her hand and her eyelids fluttered open.

Dario?

Heat flushed through her at the memory of that seductive mouth on hers. But why did he look so different from the last time she’d seen him, in his penthouse apartment, after they’d made love?

His hair had been dishevelled then too, but it looked a mess now. His jaw was covered in dark stubble and his eyes… He hadn’t had those bruised smudges under his eyes, had he?

‘Ciao, Megan. Come va?’ The lyrical Italian washed over her. But then his sensual lips tipped up at the edges as he translated. ‘How are you feeling?’

That smile, she remembered that smile. So sexy. Heat settled in her abdomen and she tried to speak. But all that came out was a husky croak.

He held her hand and pressed it to his lips. The prickle of stubble against her knuckles made her aware of a few other aches and pains. A lot of other aches and pains. Where had they come from? She remembered being sore after their lovemaking, but not this sore.

‘Water?’ he asked.

She nodded.

Cradling her head, he held a cup to her lips, directing the straw into her mouth. She took a sip, the cool water easing the rawness in her throat. Why was she so thirsty?

‘Okay?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, despite all those unexplained aches and pains. ‘Where are we? Is this your bedroom?’ Had he taken her upstairs? She was sure he had. She could remember the slow glide of his fingers over sensitive flesh, the prickling spray of the water in his power shower, the scent of sandalwood soap that had clung to his skin and hers later, much later, as they lay together on Egyptian cotton sheets. But everything else felt so disjointed. And this didn’t feel like his bedroom, the cloying scent of roses and the persistent sound of something beeping confusing her.

‘You’re in hospital,’ he said, placing the cup back on a bedside table.

‘I am? Why?’ That didn’t sound right. What was she doing in a hospital? ‘Did I have an accident?’

‘You don’t remember?’ he asked.

‘No, I… I remember being with you and…’ The heat suffused her skin. Should she tell him? But he looked concerned. She didn’t want him to worry. She didn’t want him to think for even a second that she hadn’t enjoyed herself. It had been a little sore at first. Just as she had suspected, he wasn’t a small man…anywhere. But it had been glorious after that. She wanted him to know that. She thought she’d told him this already, but maybe she’d only thought it.

‘I remember it was wonderful. You were wonderful. But that’s all I can remember.’ Had she made a complete muppet of herself? Fallen over in his power shower? Tripped down the stairs leading up to the mezzanine? That would be just like her, to knock herself unconscious after the best sex of her life. The only proper sex of her life.

‘What accident did I have?’ she asked, when he simply stared at her, his gaze searching her face as if he was looking for something. Something important.

‘Meg, you’re awake.’ Katie’s excited voice pierced her aching head before her sister bounced into view beside Dario.

He started to move aside to make room for Katie, who looked overjoyed to see her. But as he went to let go of her hand, Megan’s grip tightened.

‘No, don’t. Don’t go.’

She didn’t want to let go of him, not yet. She liked having him there. Something dark and scary seemed to be lurking just out of reach, and she didn’t want to let it come any closer. With Dario there, holding her hand, she knew it wouldn’t be able to. He was such a force of nature. He would never let it hurt her, whatever it was. And he cared about her. She knew he did. Because she could hear his voice in her memory telling her everything would be okay.

He squeezed her hand back. ‘What is it, cara?’

‘Could you stay with me?’

He hesitated for a moment, but then he sat back down, still holding her hand. ‘If you want.’

She could see Katie swivelling her head between the two of them, her eyes widening. But she didn’t have the energy to care. She had known she would have to tell Katie about Dario, and everything that had happened last night at the Westchester Ball, because it was impossible to keep anything secret from her sister. But she was more than happy to let Katie draw her own conclusions now, because she wasn’t exactly sure herself what had happened any more. Except that it had been glorious. And just having Dario look at her like that, as if he would keep her safe no matter what, was enough to make the aches and pains from her mysterious accident fade away.

Along with the dark, scary thing lurking in the shadows.

A short, rotund, middle-aged Hispanic woman with a friendly face and gentle hands appeared and introduced herself as Dr Hernandez.

She checked Megan’s pulse, shone a light into her eyes and then spoke to her in a soft, even voice.

She asked Megan all sorts of silly questions, like her age and her name, and Katie’s name and their relationship. And where they lived. And what year it was. The doctor asked her about Dario and if she remembered him. Of course she did, she said, as the blush spread up her chest.

Thank goodness the lighting was muted in here. Or this interrogation could become really awkward, especially with Katie sitting there listening to every word.

But then the questions became more confusing.

‘Do you remember your relationship to Mr De Rossi?’

She felt Dario’s hand clench hers, his jaw stiffening.

‘I…’ She wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t want to seem even more gauche, or clueless, than she did already, but at the same time he was here, holding her hand, so maybe he wouldn’t mind her mentioning it. ‘We’re lovers,’ she said, deciding that sounded a little less embarrassing than We shared a night of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.

‘Do you remember that you’re engaged to Mr De Rossi?’

Huh?

‘What? Seriously?’ Katie said, echoing Megan’s confused thoughts. ‘You’re kidding?’

Her little sister crowded in on her and Dario and the doctor again.

Really? They were engaged? That was, well, surprising. Astonishing even. She couldn’t remember the exact details, but hadn’t they only met last night?

Dario’s grip stayed firm, though, and he didn’t jump in to deny it. The look on his face was guarded somehow but intense.

Even though she couldn’t remember falling in love with Dario—which was probably a bad thing—being engaged to him, having him fall in love with her, felt like a good thing. Or at least not a bad thing. It made her feel protected, coveted, the way she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl and her mother—She cut off that thought.

No, she wasn’t going to think about her mother. Because it would take away the happy, floaty buzz, the giddy excitement in her chest that thinking about Dario gave her.

And being with him. Now. For ever. That felt pretty good too. Because as well as him being there to protect her, he could give her lots more of the hot, sexy times that she could remember from their night together—their apparently very eventful night together.

Really, it was all good. Except the not remembering part. But that would come back in time. Surely no woman would forget falling in love with Dario De Rossi for long?

‘I…’ She paused. She didn’t want to lie to Dario, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. And if they were engaged, she must have agreed to it. ‘I think I remember it.’

‘Do you remember anything about your father? About what happened?’ the doctor said.

Thoughts butted into her head. Not happy, or floaty thoughts, this time, but sharp, discordant, jarring ones. Panic tore at her raw throat, and she began to shake.

The beeping in her ears got louder, more persistent.

‘I don’t…’ She couldn’t speak past the blockage in her throat, that dark, scary figure lurking nearby, encroaching on her peripheral vision. ‘I don’t want to think about that.’

She didn’t know why, but she knew thinking about her father would be bad.

‘Shh, Megan.’ Dario leant over her, still holding her hand; he stroked her hair back from her forehead, the intense look pulling her away from the fear. ‘It’s okay. Look at me, cara.’ He caught her chin in firm fingers, making her concentrate on him, that turbulent blue gaze forcing the fear back. ‘You’re okay. Do you understand?’

The words echoed in her heart, folding around her like a soft blanket, keeping her safe.

‘Yes, but don’t go.’ She wanted to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t stop shaking, the terror still too close.

‘I won’t,’ he said, his voice so determined she knew he meant it. ‘Te lo prometto.’

I promise you.

‘Relax, Megan,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m going to give you something to help with that.’ A warm tingling feeling seeped into her vein, spreading up her arm and enveloping her in a beautiful fog. She floated on it, sinking into the cloud, soothed by the pressure of Dario’s hand and his deep compelling voice telling her again that everything would be okay.

She held on to his hand, knowing it was true, as long as she didn’t let him go.

‘What just happened in there?’ Dario could feel his frustration levels rising as he stalked after Dr Hernandez. He and Katie had been double teaming for ten hours, waiting for Megan to come out of her coma. And now this. ‘How can she remember nothing of the attack?’ he demanded as the doctor stopped at the nurses’ station.

He shoved his fists into the pockets of his trousers, the fear on Megan’s face still haunting him. How had this happened? He didn’t feel less responsible now, he felt more so.

‘Your fiancée has suffered a serious emotional and physical trauma, Mr De Rossi,’ the doctor said with complete equanimity as she jotted something down on Megan’s chart. ‘It’s quite possible she has blanked some of the events from that day.’ The woman’s clear brown gaze focused on his face. ‘The good news is, she remembers you and your engagement. Your presence calmed her down considerably, which will be useful in the weeks and months ahead as she recovers.’

Months. He couldn’t be responsible for her for months. He wasn’t even her real fiancé. He knew he should point this out to Hernandez, but the memory of Megan clutching his hand and looking at him with such faith in her eyes made the words clog in his throat. He could not deny the connection now.

Until Megan was well again, and she had her memory back—all her memories back—she would be defenceless.

‘I can’t believe you proposed after one night!’ Katie appeared at his elbow. ‘That must have been some night.’ The girl’s scepticism was, of course, entirely justified, but the astonished look spiked his annoyance.

‘Your sister is a remarkable woman,’ he heard himself say.

‘I know she is,’ the girl said. ‘But I’m surprised you do.’

He could hear the bite of cynicism in her tone. And it occurred to him that, although Katie was the younger sister, she had none of Megan’s faith in the inherent goodness of people.

‘He certainly never did,’ she added.

‘I am not your father,’ he said, the comparison annoying him more. ‘I appreciate your sister.’

‘I get that, or I guess you wouldn’t have asked her to marry you,’ she said, not sounding convinced. ‘But you still don’t strike me as the sort of guy to fall hopelessly in love in the space of one night.’

She was certainly correct about that.

‘Who said anything about love?’ he asked, his temper kicking up another notch. He didn’t need the fifth degree from a teenager. ‘Megan and I are well matched. And she understands this engagement is one of convenience.’ Or she would, as soon as she regained her memory and he could break it off.

But until then he would have to maintain this fiction. He could not leave Megan so vulnerable.

There was the police investigation to consider, the subsequent trial and, on top of all that, the press, who had been camped outside the hospital for days. How could he leave the young woman who had gripped his hand with such fear in her eyes to fend off all that alone?

Maybe he had not wanted the job, but who else was there? A nineteen-year-old art student was the only other candidate.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Katie interrupted his thoughts. ‘Underneath all her pragmatism and business savvy, Megan’s a romantic. If she agreed to marry you, she must think she’s in love with you.’

‘She needs someone to protect her. I have the money and resources to do that until she is well. She understands that.’

Megan had struck him from the first as a pragmatic young woman, astute and intelligent. Maybe she had a blind spot where her father was concerned, but however fragile her mental state she must have made a choice to agree with Dario’s deception in there. A subconscious choice maybe, but a choice nonetheless. However faulty her memory, she could hardly have remembered a proposal that did not occur.

He flexed his fingers, recalling the feel of her hand, so small, clasping his, as she begged him not to leave her. And another memory swirled in his consciousness, making his lungs squeeze in his chest.

Please save me, Dario.

He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to shake off the debilitating images from his past.

He had to concentrate on the present. The way forward was simple. He could not abandon Megan until she was well. But their situation had nothing to do with love. He and Megan understood that, even if Megan’s sister did not.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m having a go at you,’ Katie said, as the fluorescent lighting caught the bluish smudges under her eyes. The girl was exhausted. She’d been keeping this vigil a great deal longer than he had, he realised. She dragged her hand through her hair. ‘I’m the one who let her walk into that room.’

‘It is pointless to blame yourself.’ He gave the girl an awkward pat on the shoulder. Then shoved his hand back into his pocket.

Consoling distraught teenagers was as far out of his comfort zone as pretending to be someone’s fiancé.

‘You should go home, get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I will stay and ascertain what is to be done next and contact you in the morning.’

Katie looked at him, then back at the door to Megan’s room, clearly torn. He was struck by the closeness of the bond between the two sisters, despite their personality differences. He would do well to remember that.

‘There is little more either one of us can do now,’ he added. He might not want this responsibility, but he was not about to shirk it—until he had come up with a coherent plan for Megan’s recovery.

‘Okay, I guess she trusts you,’ she said. ‘And you did save her life.’

The words should have made him feel more burdened, but, oddly, instead he felt strangely relieved as he watched Megan’s sister leave. As long as he had complete control of the situation, he would be in a position to resolve it, to everyone’s satisfaction.

‘Dr Hernandez…’ He turned to the doctor, who had been scribbling on Megan’s chart while he and Katie talked. ‘Can you tell me when Megan’s memory will return?’ The first order of business was to discover the depths of the problem.

‘I’m afraid not. Medicine is not an exact science, Mr De Rossi. We’ll run some more tests, have her speak to a psychiatrist to ascertain as much as we can about the amnesia. If there is no neurological cause, though, I would expect Megan to remember the events in more detail once she is emotionally strong enough to deal with them.’

‘Get her whatever she needs. Money is no object,’ he said, prepared to pay whatever it took.

‘Either way, she should be ready to leave the hospital in a week or so,’ the doctor continued. ‘Her physical injuries are healing well. And she’ll be able to get the rest and recuperation she needs much better in a home environment.’

He swore under his breath. The doctor was right, of course, but what home environment did she have? She could not return to her old apartment, which had been repossessed as soon as Whittaker had been arrested and the state of his finances revealed. And anyway, it was the site of the attack. Katie was now staying with the girls’ old housekeeper in Brooklyn, having refused his offer of financial aid. But Megan couldn’t stay there—it was too small and would not protect her from press attention. He and Katie had been running the gauntlet of photographers and reporters while taking it in turns to visit the hospital. Megan would need somewhere far away from the media spotlight.

‘By the way, Mr De Rossi,’ the doctor cut into his thoughts as she finished writing on Megan’s chart and handed it back to the nurse. ‘You mentioned the possibility of Megan being pregnant. We ran the test as requested and it came back negative.’

Thank goodness.

Dario’s lungs released, the relief making him light-headed. He’d requested the test a few hours before, his mind finally functioning well enough to realise that Megan might not have had time to take the necessary precautions before her father attacked her. Maybe she hadn’t even needed the emergency contraception. Either way, this at least was good news.

But before he could suck in another calming breath the doctor added, ‘Of course, there’s always a slight chance of a false negative this soon after possible conception, but it’s unlikely.’

A false negative? What on earth did that even mean?

CHAPTER NINE

‘HEY, MAN, WASN’T expecting you tonight.’ Jared yawned, then squinted at Dario out of sleep-deprived eyes.

Dario glanced at his watch. And winced. Two a.m. ‘Sorry, I did not realise the time.’

‘No problem. Come on in.’ His friend wearing only a pair of sweat pants pushed open the heavy metal door to his loft apartment. ‘Want a beer? You look like you could use one,’ Jared added, padding into the apartment ahead of Dario.

He probably shouldn’t have come over at this hour. But for the first time in his life, he needed help and complete confidentiality, and Jared was the only person he trusted that much.

The guy was the closest thing Dario had to family. Or what Dario figured a brother would be like. Someone who would help you out in a jam, no questions asked, but didn’t pry into your private life. And that was what he needed right now. Because he’d been roaming Murray Hill like a zombie for a couple of hours, ever since he’d left Megan at the hospital, trying to figure out a workable solution.

‘You look terrible,’ Jared said as he cracked open a beer and handed it to Dario.

‘It’s been a long four days.’ Dario took the beer and chugged a mouthful of the yeasty lager. Had it really been only four days since he’d had Megan in his arms? Soft and sweet and sobbing for release?

Stop right there, amico.

He took another long pull of lager, struggling to ignore the inevitable swell of heat.

He needed to stop torturing himself with thoughts of that night, because he wasn’t going to have Megan in his arms again. The only way to square the subterfuge with his conscience was if he didn’t sleep with her. She was fragile, emotionally as well as physically, so until she was fully recovered he couldn’t even consider making love to her. He swallowed. Sleeping with her again, he corrected.

And not even then.

She was trusting and innocent and this situation had become far too complex already. He preferred women who knew the score, so that he could keep his sex life simple and his affairs shallow and short-lived. Megan had got under his skin to an extent that no other woman ever had, and circumstances had done the rest. All of which made him supremely uncomfortable.

‘Yeah, I gathered that from the press reports on late-night TV.’ Jared took a swig of his own beer and leaned against the counter top, the searching look only winding the knot in Dario’s gut tighter. ‘How’s the new fiancée doing?’

The beer hit Dario’s tonsils and he jerked forward in mid-sip.

Jared gave him a hearty thump on the back.

‘The press got hold of that already?’ Dario managed at last, his voice a hoarse whisper. Someone at the hospital must have leaked the information—which was all the more reason to get Megan out of there, out of the city, as soon as she was well enough to travel.

‘So it’s true?’ Jared said dispassionately, but the relaxed pose was history. ‘You guys are engaged?’

‘Yes,’ Dario said, his tired brain starting to knot along with his gut. He needed to get some sleep. He’d been running on adrenaline for hours; it was dulling his thought processes.

‘You want to tell me how that happened?’ Jared said.

‘It’s complicated,’ Dario said.

‘I gathered that.’ Jared picked his beer back up off the counter, and used it to point at the long leather couches that made up the apartment’s seating area. ‘Let’s take a load off.’ He led the way across the large open-plan living space. Dario followed.

Jared settled on one of the luxury couches. The leather creaked as he propped his bare feet on the coffee table. And waited for Dario to speak. The younger man’s pragmatic presence helped to settle the nerves dancing in Dario’s stomach as he stared out at the night time NoHo cityscape visible through the wall of glass that had replaced the old loft’s loading bay doors. But the compulsion to explain the situation to Jared still surprised him.

He never talked about his personal life to anyone. He’d been a self-contained unit since he was eight years old. Had forced himself to be. Leaning on other people, relying on them, just made you weak. But his personal life hadn’t been this complicated ever. And he hadn’t been blindsided like this, by events beyond his control, since he was that eight-year-old boy. And he didn’t like it, because that was a feeling he’d promised himself he’d never have again.

‘Megan doesn’t remember what happened with her father,’ he said, fixing his gaze on the blinking light of a plane above the dark shapes of the city’s skyline. ‘They ran some tests, got the opinion of the top psychologist in NYC and a head trauma specialist from Baltimore who’s supposed to be the best in her field.’ He’d had the woman flown in especially, to give a second opinion. ‘They don’t think the memory loss is to do with her head injury, which was minor.’ The relief he felt at that piece of information was still palpable. ‘More likely it’s to do with the emotional trauma. A form of PTSD. A man Megan loved and trusted turned on her like an animal, so she’s blacked it out.’

He drew his thumbnail through the label on the beer bottle, watched it tear into jagged pieces.

There was only one thing to do. It didn’t matter if it would complicate his life for a while. Seeing Megan’s anguish when Hernandez had mentioned her father, her vibrant hair rioting around that alabaster face and her deep emerald eyes wild with terror, had pulled at something deep inside him that he could not deny. She’d gripped his fingers as if he were the only solid object in the midst of a hurricane. She needed him and he couldn’t simply desert her.

‘I see what you mean by complicated,’ Jared said.

Dario looked up from his contemplation of the beer bottle, remembering his friend was there.

‘She needs rest and as little stress as possible, according to the doctors,’ he said. ‘The press furore is only going to get more insane when Whittaker is charged. I think it is best if I take her out of the country. If she is my fiancée I am in a position to make those arrangements, to keep her safe and protected until she recovers.’

Jared sent him a level stare. ‘If? So this isn’t a real engagement. Does she know that?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. But she has accepted it without question, so it hardly matters,’ Dario said. Maybe it was complicated and confused, but it all made perfect sense if you looked at it rationally.

Megan was in no position to make these decisions for herself. And even if she hadn’t been assaulted, Dario didn’t trust her to make sensible decisions about her own safety. She was far too trusting at the best of times, and these were not the best of times.

‘Okay.’ Jared leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees—accepting Dario’s reasoning.

But then, he hadn’t expected Jared to question him.

His friend was even more cynical about relationships than he was. To the best of Dario’s knowledge, Jared had never kept a lover for more than one night. Manhattan high society was strewn with the bruised hearts of women Jared had cast off before they could mean anything to him. He suspected that emotional isolation had something to do with Jared’s childhood, or rather the lack of it, but he’d never asked; any more than he had asked about the cigarette burns on his friend’s forearms, which were barely visible now, or the other scars that had faded in the years since he’d offered Jared a bed for the night in his apartment, before referring the homeless boy to the proper authorities. Because Jared’s past was none of his business.

‘I was going to work up a report for you on the case,’ Jared said. ‘You want the high points, before we discuss the particulars of how you’re going to get your new fiancée out of the country?’ Jared asked, the efficient, down-to-earth approach reassuring.

Dario nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘Just as you suspected, Megan’s father was high as a kite when he attacked her,’ Jared began. ‘According to my contact in the NYPD he’s had a major cocaine habit for years. His girlfriend Annalise Maybury—now his ex-girlfriend—told the detectives as much under questioning. And there’s something else, something I found out on my own after doing some digging,’ Jared continued, the cynicism in his voice even sharper than usual. ‘They’re not his daughters.’

‘What?’

‘Megan and her sister, they’re not his biological kids. He’s known for years—got them paternity tested without their knowledge when they were children after the mom ran off with one of her lovers. Whittaker only kept them around, pretended he was still their old man, because he was busy mooching off the trust fund their mom left them. Which is all gone now, just in case you were wondering.’

‘Bastardo!’ Dario’s anger curled around his heart, turning from red-hot rage to ice-cold fury.

He’d known Whittaker was a poor excuse for a CEO, and an even worse excuse for a father. But he’d never suspected the cocaine use, or the violence, so adding embezzlement and exploitation to that didn’t seem like much of a stretch. But how much more vulnerable did this make Megan?

Megan and her sister had no money. And the press were bound to find out the truth about her parentage and splash it all over the papers and the Internet to feed the public’s insatiable hunger for scandal. He’d seen the paparazzi shots of her as a teenager at her mother’s funeral. She’d been scared and alone but also fiercely protective of her little sister.

When the press got hold of this story, it would be worse.

The memory of the welts on Megan’s shoulder blades leapt out from the recesses of his tired mind, only to blur into a bloodier, more terrifying image. The sickening thuds of fists hitting flesh, the high-pitched sound of his mother’s screams and the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap chianti assaulted him.

‘Hey, man, are you okay?’

Jared’s question drew him back to the present.

He blocked the image out, the way he had learned to over the years. But the return of the old nightmare left him shaken. His hand trembled as he took a last swig of his beer. Something he did not need Jared, or anyone else, to see.

‘Yes.’ He placed the bottle on the table between them. ‘Can you give this information to the police?’

‘Sure. I’ll send them a copy of my report. Anything else you need on this?’

‘I need your help to get Megan and her sister, Katie, out of the country without alerting the press as soon as Megan is well enough to travel. And me as well.’ His mind was made up. There was no other solution. And with Katie there as a chaperone, he ought to find it easier to keep his mind out of the gutter.

Megan’s memory would return soon, he had to believe that, because he intended to do everything in his power to ensure she felt safe and secure and well rested enough for that to happen—which included him being by her side. And when her memory did return, he wanted to be there. Just in case there were other complications.

The possibility of a pregnancy was small, according to Hernandez, after she had dropped her bombshell about a false negative on the test, and he wasn’t going to worry about it overmuch. But he also wasn’t taking any chances.

‘I’d advise against taking the kid sister with you,’ Jared said, interrupting Dario’s thoughts.

‘What? Why?’

‘She might need to be available for Whittaker’s arraignment,’ he said.

‘But surely our sworn statements are enough until the case comes to trial?’ Dario asked. Witnesses weren’t usually called for an arraignment.

‘True enough, but I wouldn’t risk it. Whittaker might be low on funds, but he’s no fool. He’s managed to beg, borrow and steal enough for a top-flight legal team. He’s saying you inflicted the wounds on your lover in a jealous rage. Neither the police nor the prosecutor’s office are buying that. But if Megan’s lost her memory, Katie is the only reliable witness to the actual assault. You can make a good case for taking Megan out of the country to recuperate until the trial, and if you’re her fiancé it makes sense for you to go with her. But you spirit Katie out of the country too, just before the guy’s arraigned, and I guarantee you Whittaker’s defence team will try and use it. The kid sister stays, or you’re taking a risk of this case not even getting to trial.’

Dario swore, his head starting to pound. ‘Okay, Katie stays. I’ll tell her tomorrow. She won’t like it.’ And neither did he. Being alone with her big sister wasn’t going to make resisting Megan any easier. ‘We cannot risk having Whittaker weasel out of paying for what he has done. Katie will understand that.’ Because he suspected, unlike Megan, Katie had never had any delusions about their father. Or rather, the man who had pretended to be their father. ‘Can I ask you another favour in that case?’

‘Fire away,’ Jared said.

‘Can you protect Katie from the press once we’re gone?’ The girl was brave and bold, but she was also reckless and unpredictable and young.

Jared nodded. ‘Consider it done.’

‘I should warn you though,’ Dario said, recalling his run-in with Katie earlier that day. ‘She may not be co-operative. She is not as trusting or as amenable as Megan.’

‘I think I can handle a hot-headed kid,’ Jared said. ‘I happen to be a professional.’

Dario’s lips lifted in what felt like his first smile in days at the wry tone. ‘Thanks.’

Downing the rest of the beer, Dario got up from the couch and shook Jared’s hand. ‘I’ll speak to Katie tomorrow.’ Not a conversation he was looking forward to. ‘In the meantime, can you liaise with the police and the prosecutor’s office to let them know what’s going on? Then work up a plan to get us out of the country undetected.’

‘Got it,’ Jared said as he walked Dario to the door of the apartment. ‘Where are you guys headed?’

‘Isadora.’

He’d bought the island off the coast of Sicily five years ago, when the company had made its first billion in turnover. And had finished renovating the five-bedroom villa on it over a year ago. He’d already had a visit scheduled to the island once the Whittaker takeover was finalised, to check up on the many investments he was making in the island’s infrastructure. And get some much-needed R and R.

‘Nice,’ Jared said, before bidding him goodbye.

Dario wasn’t so sure. When he was not so tired, he might appreciate the irony that his visit to the island was now likely to be the opposite of relaxing.

CHAPTER TEN

THE HELICOPTER TOUCHED down on a helipad hewn out of volcanic rock. Megan breathed in the scent of sea salt and citrus, her eyes expanding with wonder at the heart-stopping view as the blades whirled to a stop.

A path meandered through terraces of lemon groves to a white sand beach. Dario’s villa stood on the clifftop, its elegant stone walls adorned by grapevines and wisteria, the dark wood shutters open to let in the sunny spring morning, which was a good ten degrees hotter than Manhattan.

Dario leaned over her to undo her seat belt. ‘You’re awake? Are you feeling well?’ he asked, solicitous and concerned.

‘Yes, I woke up a while ago,’ she said. She’d noticed him sitting beside her when she opened her eyes, busy keying in data on his smartphone, apparently uninterested in the staggering view as the helicopter swooped over the Mediterranean and then hugged the coastline of the stunningly picturesque island.

She hadn’t wanted to disturb him, so she’d gazed out of the window and absorbed the breathtaking vistas while trying to get her careering pulse and erratic heartbeat under control.

It all seemed like a strange and wonderful dream. So strange and wonderful, she didn’t know what to make of it.

Everything had happened so fast. Ever since Dario had told her they were engaged in the hospital three days ago. And yet at the same time, in a sort of delayed motion, each new and astonishing experience leaving her struggling to make sense of them. Frankly, it was all a bit too wonderful. As if she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

She had led a privileged life, having attended private schools and lived in well-appointed homes in London and New York. She considered herself to be fairly cosmopolitan, with a smattering of Italian and French, having spent her childhood and adolescence living on two continents.

But nothing could have prepared her for the opulence and luxury of the world Dario lived in.

They’d been whisked from the hospital to JFK in a fleet of limousines in the middle of the night, then transported across the Atlantic on a private jet. The cordon bleu meal served on bone china crockery with sterling silver cutlery, followed by a night—alone—on a king-size bed in the sleek aircraft. The helicopter ride had been yet another new experience—as exhilarating as it was unsettling. But by far the most daunting thing had been having Dario by her side during every waking hour.

He’d been so careful with her, as if she were made of spun glass and might break at any minute. But while his care had made her feel cherished and safe in the hospital, now it was starting to feel stifling. He was such a commanding man, both physically and professionally. And she knew she wasn’t yet one hundred per cent, because she still couldn’t remember a thing about their engagement, or her accident. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she couldn’t help wondering how Dario had managed to fall in love with her, when he obviously thought she was a bit pathetic.

She also couldn’t quite fathom how she’d agreed to marry him, when he made the air seize in her chest and her stomach do backflips every time he looked at her with those piercing blue eyes.

How were they going to have any kind of married life together, when his presence by her side made it hard for her to breathe?

Then again, at least she wasn’t the only one who found him a bit intimidating.

He never raised his voice, but everyone they came into contact with on their journey—his PA, the drivers, the pilots, even the passport authorities—did his bidding without question. Everyone except his friend Jared, who’d talked to Dario like an equal when he had come to tell Megan he would be keeping an eye on Katie while they were away, on Dario’s instructions.

She had wondered why Katie would need anyone keeping an eye on her, and debated warning him that Katie wasn’t the easiest person to handle. But, in the end, she’d decided not to say anything. After all, Katie was more than capable of speaking for herself, and it had been so thoughtful of Dario to worry about her sister’s welfare.

A car and driver arrived at the heliport as Dario helped her down from the cockpit. His firm fingers on her arm made her pulse jump and jive. She concentrated on the spurt of adrenaline as he left her side to go to talk to the pilot.

Gift horse—mouth? Hello? Stop looking! Why can’t you just enjoy the thrill? You’re tired and a little overwhelmed, that’s all. A staggeringly gorgeous man is in love with you. This is not something to have a panic attack about.

A team of staff members arrived in a fleet of SUVs to unload a series of bags, boxes and trunks from the helicopter’s hold. Luggage Megan had never seen before.

‘Cara, are you ready?’ Dario said, returning to lead her to the car.

‘Yes, but… I just realised I didn’t pack anything for the trip.’ She didn’t recognise the luggage, so it must be Dario’s. ‘Do you think I could order some clothes?’ There had been some expensive clothes waiting for her on his private jet to change into when she’d arrived from the hospital, which had been wonderful and had made her feel a little teary—her fiancé appeared to think of everything. There had even been a ton of expensive creams, make-up and haircare products for all her toiletry needs, and a designer negligee in the plane’s bedroom—although the seductive confection of silk and lace had seemed a little pointless when Dario had worked through the flight on his laptop instead of joining her.

But she couldn’t expect the luggage fairy to keep providing her with everything she needed.

Dario had told her they would be staying for at least a fortnight as he had a series of meetings planned with his business contacts on the island. He was a busy man, and she knew she had a demanding job too. Although every time she tried to think about her job, the dark shadow lurking at the edge of her consciousness threatened, so she had decided not to worry about that. But if Dario had brought all this stuff with him, she would need more clothing, too. She didn’t want to embarrass him with her paltry wardrobe.

‘I’ve only got the hospital gown, and my negligee and this,’ she said, sweeping her hands over the ensemble of slim-fit jeans, a camisole and linen shirt he’d already provided.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. Dario’s lifestyle was extremely glamorous, way too glamorous for a woman with no luggage. No wonder she felt overwhelmed.

‘Stop worrying, cara,’ Dario said, his thumb glancing over her bottom lip.

She stopped biting it, the goosebumps going haywire at his tiny touch.

‘There is nothing you need that isn’t already purchased.’

‘But I didn’t bring…’

‘The cases are mostly yours.’ He swept his hand to encompass the luggage still being transported by several burly men to the fleet of cars. ‘Della, my PA, assured me it was all you would need.’

Megan gaped, feeling like Alice, having just plopped down the rabbit hole.

All she would need? There was enough luggage here to dress the entire catwalk at Paris Fashion Week.

‘But I… I’m not sure I can afford it,’ she said, desperately trying to scramble out of the rabbit hole, and plant her feet on solid ground. Or solidish.

‘Shh… Do not concern yourself with money.’ He captured her chin, forcing her gaze away from the never-ending parade of designer suitcases. The slow sexy smile that spread across his handsome face wasn’t any less disturbing. ‘I can provide what you need while we are here.’

She knew he was just being thoughtful again, but the insistence in his voice brought back the flutter of frustration. ‘That’s very generous of you, but I prefer to pay my own way.’

In the hospital, he’d told her she was his responsibility, and, while she’d found it comforting then, it was way past time she let him off the hook now. She still had some interesting bruises—her back was covered in them, which made her sure she must have fallen down his stairs. Obviously, he’d taken the whole responsibility thing too far because she’d had her accident in his home—which was touching, but it was getting a bit over the top.

‘I certainly don’t think you should pay for my clothes. I can do that.’ Of course, she wasn’t sure she could pay for those clothes, because from the logos on the bags they looked way out of her price range. ‘You must let me pay you back.’ Once I’ve secured a loan.

Dario’s brows furrowed, the offer clearly confusing him. Obviously Giselle hadn’t been much of a pay-your-own-way kind of gal. Maybe she didn’t have Giselle’s supermodel face and figure, but she did have financial integrity. And an unimpeachable work ethic.

Or at least she thought she did.

One of the luggage handlers arrived to tell them everything was ready.

Dario replied in Italian, instructing them to take the luggage to the house and have the housekeeper unpack it in the bedroom.

She got momentarily fixated on the word bedroom, his rich, resonant voice making it sound ludicrously seductive.

The thought of what they would be doing together in the bedroom in the coming days, and possibly for two whole weeks, cheered her up considerably.

She couldn’t wait to get started. Her body’s constant hunger for Dario, the desire to feel his touch again—the one thing about their engagement that was straightforward and uncomplicated. Maybe she wouldn’t need to wear all the clothes. Then she could return a few and get a refund.

‘Come, we will talk about this on the drive,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ she said, although she couldn’t see what else there was to discuss.

But then he put a palm on the small of her back, caressing the base of her spine, to direct her to the car—and she had to bite her lip to hold back the purr.

As the car sped down the track towards his magnificent home on the clifftop, an infinity pool came into view nestled amid trellises of flowering vines as the road climbed towards the house.

‘The clothes are a gift, Megan,’ he said, in the velvet-over-steel voice she recognised as the one he used when instructing his employees. ‘I am a very rich man. I enjoy purchasing things for you. Payment is out of the question. Do you understand?’

‘Um…okay?’ she said, because she was distracted by that delicious voice, and the thought of all the things they were going to be doing in his camera tonight.

The villa was beautiful. But she didn’t get much chance to examine the sweep of living and dining rooms on the ground floor, before Dario had directed her to the second floor and a suite of rooms with a terrace that offered an awe-inspiring view of the pool and the terraces of lemon groves that led down to the sea.

The men carrying her luggage trooped in behind them.

But all Megan’s attention was on the enormous bed. The four-poster, draped with gauzy muslin curtains, was the room’s focal point, both romantic and exciting and a tiny bit intimidating. Her heartbeat throbbed in her throat—and a few other key parts of her anatomy.

‘Megan, this is Sofia,’ Dario announced and she turned to find a tiny bird of a woman in her fifties with lush chestnut hair standing beside him. ‘She is the villa housekeeper and in charge of all the staff; she will take care of your needs. I have instructed her to serve you your meal in your rooms tonight, so that you can rest.’

‘My rooms?’ she asked, confused now. Wasn’t this suite of rooms for both of them? Where was Dario planning to sleep? ‘But…?’ Her cheeks coloured. How could she ask him such an intimate question in front of all these people? ‘Won’t you be joining me?’ she managed at last.

‘Not tonight, piccola,’ he said.

He cupped her face and gave her a proprietorial kiss on the forehead, making her feel like an over-eager puppy. ‘You must rest. And I must work.’

He dropped his hands and stepped back so quickly she might almost have imagined the perfunctory peck, but for the prickle of sensation on her cheeks left by the calluses on his palms. ‘Buonanotte, Megan. I will see you tomorrow, at suppertime.’

At suppertime?

He marched out of the room, his back ramrod straight.

What about the rest of the day?

She stood in the centre of the beautiful room, feeling dazed and desperately disappointed.

Sofia chatted away in a halting mix of English and Italian about how overjoyed they all were to have their boss’s fidanzata in residence, while directing a couple of maids to fold away the dazzling array of designer clothing and making menu suggestions for Megan’s evening meal. But as Megan watched Dario, tall and indomitable, disappear down the steps of the terrace, she’d never felt less like a fidanzata in her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘BUONGIORNO, SOFIA. DOVE DARIO?’ Megan asked the housekeeper, hoping she’d got her tenses right—and trying not to be embarrassed by the all too familiar enquiry. Because she’d been asking the housekeeper every morning for almost a week where Dario was that day.

‘Buongiorno, signorina.’ Sofia smiled, busy stretching and pulling the fresh pasta dough, as she did every morning. ‘Il capo? He is with the fishermen, today,’ she said. ‘Tonight we will have Pesce spada. How you say that in Inglese? Swordfish? Yes?’

Megan nodded as her heart sank to her toes.

The swordfish season had started that morning. She had spotted the traditional long boat with its twenty-five-foot mast from the veranda in her suite of rooms as the sun turned the deep blue sea a ruddy pink.

So Dario had got up at dawn and would no doubt be gone all day. Again. She had hoped today, with no business scheduled that she knew of, he might be able to stay at the villa.

‘Delizioso.’ She did a smacking action with her lips and Sofia laughed.

‘Only if the fish smile on us,’ the housekeeper said. ‘If they do not we have sardine ravioli.’

Megan smiled back, but it felt forced and tight.

She adored Sofia. The woman was friendly and efficient and had been happy to spend the afternoon yesterday teaching Megan how to make fresh tagliatelle, which had gone a long way in keeping her anxiety at bay. But she didn’t think pasta making was going to cut it today.

She’d been at the villa for nearly a whole week now. And each day had begun to blend into the next. At first she’d forced herself to appreciate the chance to rest and heal, and had tried not to let Dario’s absences from the villa—and indeed her bed each night—upset her.

The villa was in a stunningly beautiful location with every possible luxury at her fingertips and Sofia, along with her two young maids, Donella and Isa, were more than happy to accommodate Megan’s every whim. She’d made herself relax and enjoy the late mornings spent lazing in bed or sitting on the veranda with strong coffee and a tray of Sofia’s fresh pastries; the light lunches spent lounging by the pool reading the books she’d downloaded from the Internet; the afternoons spent swimming and exploring the secluded coves, picking wildflowers, and trying to identify the local fauna. It had all helped to fill up the empty hours and stop her from obsessing about getting the chance to talk to Dario. About their engagement. And about all the things she could not remember about him.

To be fair, the complete lack of any stress had been welcome at first, as her body healed from her accident.

She also called Katie using Skype each afternoon, but that had become an exercise in avoiding all Katie’s probing questions about how everything was going with Dario.

In the last few days, she had tried to be content seeing Dario each evening, when they would sit down to the lavish four-course meal Sofia and her helpers prepared each day.

Last night, as the citronella candles burned, illuminating his harsh, handsome face, Megan had watched her fiancé devour Sofia’s delicious food and finally drummed up the courage to ask him about himself.

But he had directed the conversation away from anything personal, and in the end she was just so pleased to see him, she had decided not to push.

The hunger inside her, though, had been like a dragon, breathing fire into every single erogenous zone, as she’d watched Dario’s firm sensual lips consume a mouthful of Sofia’s light, tart lemon zabaglione. She thought she’d caught his dark hooded gaze on her cleavage, but it had flicked away again so quickly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it.

Her confusion and desperation had increased as he had escorted her once again to her suite of rooms and bid her goodnight at the door. So much so that she had been unable to hold back the suggestion that he spend the night with her.

She’d waited patiently for him to make the first move. But her patience was at an end now. Instead of taking her up on her offer, though, he’d said nothing at all, his jaw rigid.

So she’d ended up babbling on about how much better she felt now and if she relaxed any more she’d turn into a narcoleptic… A very fat narcoleptic, because Sofia’s cooking was to die for.

For a split second she thought she’d seen the flare of desire, burning even hotter than her own, but then he’d politely refused her offer and walked away—leaving her breathless, anxious, and hopelessly frustrated.

And now this.

After waking up feeing tense, confused and even more frustrated this morning, she discovered he’d gone again.

It was too much.

Ordinarily, she did not have a confrontational bone in her body—that had always been Katie’s forte. But after over a week of rest and recuperation at Dario’s command she didn’t think she could survive another night alone without exploding.

Bidding Sofia good day, she returned to her rooms and rifled through the swimwear she had found among all the other clothing. She picked out a stunning scarlet bikini, which she had shied away from wearing because of the purpling bruises on her hip and back. But the bruises were as good as gone now.

She squeezed herself into the two swatches of red Lycra, dismayed to discover that whomever had bought the clothing had underestimated Megan’s bust size a fraction. Either that, or Sofia’s pasta blow-outs had added a cup size.

Didn’t matter. Dario needed to see the evidence for himself—that she was fully recovered from her accident. It was way past time she demanded more of his time and attention.

She packed her e-reader, some sun lotion and a towel into her beach bag, and headed to the two-tiered pool situated on the terrace below the villa, prepared for a long wait. Dario would have to walk up through the lemon groves from the harbour and past the pool when he got back from his fishing expedition—by which time she would be more than ready to confront him. She hoped.

Dario trudged up the last few stairs through the lemon grove, calculating the hour as close to four o’clock. He would wash the fish smell off, then take the Jeep over to Matteo Caldone’s farm, to check on the new irrigation system he’d financed for Matteo’s groves of blood oranges. His shoulders ached from reeling in fish for ten straight hours. And he was ready to collapse. But after last night, he was not about to risk seeing Megan any sooner than was absolutely necessary.

After today’s back-breaking work, surely tonight he’d be able to sleep without being visited by the erotic visions that had woken him hard and aching every night since they’d arrived.

Walking away from her last night had nearly killed him. Once he’d returned to his own room, he’d had to resort to the sort of self-servicing that he hadn’t indulged in for some time.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much good. He’d woken sweating and swearing, with images of Megan on their one torrid night together turning his hunger into a ravening beast.

The salt air, perfumed by the tart, citrus scent of the lemon grove, filled his lungs. He let it go, the heavy sigh almost as weary as his aching body. Tonight he would sleep and he would not dream of Megan. Those high, full breasts with their pale, pink peaks as she begged for…

He blinked and wiped the layer of sweat off his forehead.

Dio! Basta!

Then he rounded the drystone wall that led to the pool terrace and all the air left his lungs in a rush. Sitting on a sun lounger, her wet hair tied on top of her head in a loose knot, her full breasts barely covered by the world’s tiniest bikini, was the star player in every one of those erotic fantasies.

A small voice in the very recesses of his brain was whispering that he should step away, disappear behind the wall and then trek across the fields to approach the villa from the other side, before Megan spotted him standing there like a besotted teenager getting his first glimpse at a nude centrefold.

But he couldn’t move, the blood powering down to his groin silencing that small voice while making the rest of his body scream in agony.

Then her head rose and she saw him.

Too late.

‘Dario, I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said. Or that was what he thought she said, because it was hard to tell over the sound of the blood plummeting out of his brain to destinations south.

Standing up, she walked across the sun-warmed terracotta tiles towards him, her gorgeous curves threatening to spill right out of the minuscule patches of scarlet fabric with each seductive sway of her hips.

After getting up at dawn to spend an entire day hauling fish so he could get a stranglehold on his libido, everything south of his belt buckle had lost the plot in less than a second. The throbbing ache in his groin was now even more pronounced than the aching pain in his over-tired muscles.

Next time I see Della I am going to murder her. What was she thinking, ordering Megan that pitiful excuse for a bikini?

‘I need to speak to you about…’ She paused. ‘About what happened last night… I don’t want to spend another night alone, Dario. I understand that you are busy, that you have work commitments. But there are so many things I need to talk to you about and I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived.’ Her voice drifted through his mind but he could make no sense of what she was saying.

Was that excuse for swimwear actually wet? He could see the clear outline of her nipples through the fabric.

Madonna! Please kill me now.

Her conversation drifted into one ear and then right out of the other as he became fixated on taking each of those ripe, responsive peaks between his lips and torturing them until she begged for release.

‘Dario, are you even listening to me?’

‘Scusami?’ he mumbled, forcing his gaze back to her face. Her pale skin had acquired a healthy sun-burnished glow in the last week, her cheeks now a bright scarlet hue even more tempting than that damn bikini. He wanted to lick that fluttering pulse in her collarbone so much he could almost taste her sweet, spicy aroma on his tongue.

The way he had every night in his dreams.

Her eyes widened. Was that trepidation or shock he could see in them, the misty green bright with stunned knowledge? Then she rolled her lip under small white teeth and everything inside him shattered. All the smart, practical, moral reasons why he couldn’t taste her seemed to explode in a cloud of nuclear fallout.

‘Stop biting your lip,’ he said, his voice a low husky croak he barely recognised as his own.

‘Dario! Don’t speak to me like that.’

He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and hauled her to him.

Her eyes popped even wider as his heat and hardness rubbed against her naked belly through confining denim.

Then all coherent thought fled as his lips landed on succulent skin and his hands captured the lush curves that had finally pushed him over the edge into madness.

Megan sucked in a shocked gasp, the pulse point in her neck battering her collarbone as Dario bent his head to press his mouth to her neck.

Everything burst inside her, all the hopes and needs and wants that had been escalating for days.

Pulling free of his controlling hands, she plunged her fingers into his thick hair, and dragged his face up.

He wanted her too. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t.

The truth felt like a sunbeam, bursting inside her, as hunger darkened his hot blue eyes to black.

‘Kiss me,’ she demanded.

His tongue thrust into her mouth as he massaged her bottom, notching the apex of her thighs against the mammoth ridge in his jeans.

She almost wept for joy, kissing him back for all she was worth, her heart ready to explode right out of her chest.

He held her easily, forcing that thick ridge against the one place where she needed it the most. A guttural moan seemed to reverberate in her chest. Was that her or him? Did she even care?

The pleasure mounted, her whole body on fire now, her melting core seizing into greedy knots of desperation, coiling tighter and tighter.

She wanted him inside her, but before she could think or talk or even respond the wave crashed over her in one titanic surge of pure unadulterated bliss.

She tore her mouth from his, her broken cry shattering the harsh grunts of his breathing.

He swore suddenly and let her go, his eyes still turbulent with need. But instead of taking her back into his arms the way she wanted, the way she was desperate for him to do, he looked stunned.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged. ‘Please don’t stop.’

Her chin and cheek stung from the rough abrasion of his stubble. Her whole body shuddered from the force and fury of the spontaneous orgasm.

‘I should not have touched you,’ he said, his voice brittle.

‘Why not?’ What was he talking about? ‘I wanted you to,’ she added, in case he hadn’t realised it. But surely he must have realised it. She’d had a climax from little more than a kiss, for goodness’ sake.

She felt herself flush at the gaucheness of that. But she refused to care. Why should she be embarrassed by her wildfire response to this man? They were a couple, engaged to be married.

He raked his hands through his hair and took another step back. Why did he look so tortured? ‘This cannot happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘I…’ He hesitated, and for the first time ever he seemed unsure of what to say. ‘I could have hurt you. I should not have put my hands on you.’

Oh, for—Not that again.

Temper, rich and fluid, and surprising in its intensity, rose up. ‘I’m not made of glass, Dario. And I’m going to be your wife. I want your hands on me.’

He stared at her, as if he were lost for words. She could see the huge erection outlined by battered denim. Then he said, ‘You have bruises still.’

‘No, I don’t. You can see, they’re as good as gone.’

His gaze went all glassy again, before he suddenly jerked his head up.

‘I smell,’ he said, his voice a harsh croak now. ‘I must wash off the scent of the fish.’

‘You smell of the sea. And of you. Both scents that I love.’ As much as she must love him in order to have agreed to marry him. Did he doubt her commitment to him? Was that it? Because she couldn’t remember why and how she had fallen for him? But how could she know if he would share nothing of himself with her? Not even his body.

‘Please don’t do this,’ she said, determined to find out why he was so reluctant to repair what seemed to be broken between them. ‘Don’t shut yourself off from me.’

She reached out a hand, wanting to stroke that rigid cheek, to reassure him. But he jerked back, out of reach.

‘I must go and shower. I will be out this evening.’

‘Why? Where are you going?’ she asked, trying to stifle the bitter stab of rejection. And hurt.

‘I have important business to discuss with Matteo Caldone, a local farmer… A new irrigation system. I will eat when I return, but don’t wait for me.’

Before she could get in a word of objection, or shout at him that she did not want to wait any longer, he had marched past her and headed up to the house.

She stood by the pool, stunned by the encounter. But as she dug her teeth into her lip she remembered that flash of pure unadulterated need that had darkened his eyes to black before he’d swooped down on her, and she realised one incontrovertible truth.

The only way to bridge the huge chasm that had opened up between them was to get Dario back into her bed. Everything else would surely follow. Because wasn’t that how they’d fallen in love in the first place? Through their shared passion for each other?

And if their mad kiss a minute ago had proved one thing above all others, it was that Dario De Rossi still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

All she had to do now was make him admit it.

There would be no more polite requests. No more sitting meekly every evening while he directed the conversation, staying obediently in the villa all day or standing silently while he gave her that one peck on the forehead and left her alone for another night.

The only way Dario would ever see her as an equal, the only way he would ever open up to her, was if she started behaving like an equal. And started demanding that he satisfy the hunger that was eating them both up inside.

No way was she going to let him run off to yet another crucially important meeting. A crucially important meeting she was fairly sure he had made up on the spot.

Rushing over to her bag, she stuffed everything inside. She dashed across the pool terrace and headed towards the villa.

Time’s up, Dario. You’re not running away from me again.

* * *

It took her ten minutes to find his suite of rooms in the opposite wing of the villa from hers. Rooms she had never been invited to. That was going to stop too. What was the point of her being here, if they spent no time together? She wanted to know everything about him—all the things she must have discovered that first night in order to have agreed to this engagement, but which she had forgotten about because of her accident.

She passed through a simply furnished but beautifully appointed office, equipped with all the things necessary to run a multinational business. That he’d had all this equipment installed in a holiday home gave her pause for a moment. Dario was a workaholic. But she had no idea why he was so driven.

Shouldn’t she know about these parts of his life? She wanted to know why he couldn’t settle, and what had turned him into a man so determined to succeed that he could never take a break.

She found the door to his bedroom closed. She knocked but there was no answer.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the door open.

A bed even bigger than her own stood in the centre of the room, but it had none of the romantic flourishes of hers. It suited him, she decided. The open shutters on high windows afforded him a glorious view of the cliff tops and the path leading towards the harbour. The room was enormous, but Dario was nowhere in sight.

Had he left already? Had she missed him?

But then she jumped at the sound of splashing water coming from a door in the far wall. She noticed a pile of clothes that had been discarded in a heap on the floor.

Her throat thickened, the eddying heat making the skimpy bikini feel tight and restrictive on her swollen breasts.

He was in the shower. Should she go and join him?

Vague memories of him naked and fully aroused, the muscle and sinew slicked with water from a different shower, blasted into her brain.

Don’t overthink this. Just do it.

She knotted the summer wrap around her waist, and inched open the bathroom door.

Her breathing hitched, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs. The hot melting sensation detonated between her thighs and spread throughout her body like hot lava. Her knees shook, the sight before her bringing the dragon in her belly to scorching life.

Dario stood ten feet away in the walled shower, naked, with his back to her, the pounding of multiple jets of water meaning he hadn’t heard her come in.

He had one hand braced against the mosaic tiles, his head bent, obviously concentrating on what his other hand was doing. Steaming water slicked down bunching muscles, making her throat close the rest of the way.

His masculine beauty was so breathtaking, each hard plane and muscular bulge so perfectly sculpted, it staggered her.

He was pleasuring himself. Heat flushed through her. Had their kiss done that to him?

What a waste.

‘Dario?’

His head whipped round and the hot blue gaze locked on her face. His motions stopped. He turned as his hand fell away and her gaze dropped to the huge erection standing proud against his belly.

‘You should leave,’ he said, but the command in his voice was tempered by the rasp of longing.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Or move. Everything inside her gathered into that harsh, aching desperation to feel the thick length buried deep inside her again. Because the one thing she could remember with complete clarity was how glorious he could make her feel.

He turned fully now, allowing her to look her fill. He was magnificent. Moisture pooled in her sex, dampening her bikini bottoms.

‘If you do not leave, I will have you,’ he said, his voice so husky she could barely hear it against the beat of the water. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes.’ She found the strength from somewhere, even though her whole body was trembling now with desire and longing.

He nodded, his jaw hardening. His eyes took on a harsh glint that was both terrifying and exhilarating in its intensity. ‘Then prove it to me.’

Wrapping long fingers around the hard shaft, he stroked himself—not fast this time, but with agonising slowness. The erotic display was almost more than she could bear.

‘Take off your clothes for me,’ he said, the tone harsh with demand.

Undoing the knot on the belt with clumsy fingers, she obeyed him without question. The wrap slid off her shoulders, the silk feeling like sandpaper as it whispered over her sensitive skin.

‘All of it.’ The commanding tone tightened the desire in her gut. ‘I want you naked.’

She reached behind to undo the hook—unable to deny him now even if she had wanted to. The scarlet triangles dropped from her breasts, and the swollen, tender flesh burst free from its confinement. The breeze from the open window tightened her nipples into hard, aching peaks.

He dipped his head, still stroking that huge erection, to indicate she must lose the bikini bottoms too.

She plucked the tie on one side, and the fabric dropped away.

She couldn’t breathe—anticipation warring with panic—as he finally released his erection and turned off the water. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he walked towards her.

Gripping her face, he forced her gaze to meet his and stroked his thumb across her cheek. ‘Are you scared of me, piccola?’ he said.

The nickname stirred a new memory of their first time. She had been a little scared then, of his size and what was to come, but she wasn’t scared now.

‘No,’ she said.

‘Then why are you shaking?’

‘Because I want you so much,’ she said, knowing if there was one thing she was sure about, this was it.

He swore, but then said, ‘I want you too. Very much.’

Bending, he scooped her up and carried her quaking body out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Another memory assailed her, of being in his arms before. Of being carried up the stairs in his penthouse… Bright, exciting, arousing. But something darker tickled at the edges of her mind. Not in his penthouse, but her apartment, the crunch of broken glass under his feet…

The shadow she had been avoiding lurched into view and she slammed the door shut on that memory.

Don’t go there. Concentrate on the wonder of now.

Placing her on the bed, he dragged off the towel, releasing that magnificent erection. Reaching past her, he found a condom in the bedside cabinet and rolled it on.

She folded her arms over her breasts as he climbed onto the bed.

‘Don’t hide from me, Megan.’ He moved her arms above her head, bracketing her wrists in one hand.

She cried out as he circled one swollen peak with his tongue, then nipped at the tip. The exquisite spike of sensation darted down to her already molten sex.

He played with her breasts, circling and sucking, releasing her wrists to stroke her slick folds.

Her moans turned to sobs of need, deep and guttural, almost animalistic as he circled and caressed, right at the heart of her.

He raised his head, releasing her tortured nipples, his erection prominent against her thigh. ‘I must taste you. It has been too long,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she heard herself beg, not sure if he was asking her permission but desperate for him to know he had it.

Parting her thighs, he held her bottom, then knelt between her legs and lifted her. She arched, offering herself to him as his stubble brushed against her inner thigh. His hot tongue licked at the heart of her, delving and exploring.

Her sobs turned to ragged pants, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. His mouth found the pulsating nub at last and suckled hard.

She cried out his name as she shattered, the orgasm crashing over her in undulating waves.

He licked her through the last drops of her climax, as if gathering her taste. Then he let her go, to settle on top of her. Capturing her hips, he thrust deep in one shuddering glide. She stretched for him, the pleasure returning in a titanic rush as he rocked her back to orgasm with staggering speed.

His hands anchored her, forcing her to take the full measure of him. His penis butting that perfect spot he had found once before. The second orgasm swept through her, obliterating everything in its path—the trail of fire searing through her from her head to the tips of her toes. She clung to his shoulders, her broken sobs matched by his shout of release as he followed her over at last.

It felt like a month but could only have been a few seconds before she returned to her senses, every part of her aching with the exhaustion of a body well used.

He shifted, still so huge inside her. And then lifted his head.

Why did he look so guarded? Surely he must know he’d just given her a multiple orgasm.

‘You are okay?’ he asked. As if he really didn’t know.

‘Are you kidding?’ she said, even though she could see he was deadly serious. ‘I’m spectacular.’

The deep chuckle—although slightly strained—was like music to her ears.

‘Are you sure I did not hurt you?’ he murmured.

‘I told you, I’m not fragile,’ she said. ‘I love having sex with you. I really, really love it.’

His eyes narrowed, but the shadows retreated as he cradled her cheek and then kissed her nose.

‘Ditto,’ he said. Then he rolled off her.

She felt the loss of his warmth, his heat, immediately. Was this the moment when he told her he had to leave, to go to his irrigation ditch meeting? She was all ready to protest, to finally demand that he stay with her for the rest of the day. But instead of getting out of the bed, he hauled her close, wrapping his arms round her, and tucking her against his body, her back to his front.

She could feel the hard length of him nestled against her backside.

‘You’re not leaving to go to the lemon farm?’ she asked tentatively, afraid to remind him of the engagement.

‘It is an orange farm. But no, not tonight,’ he said.

He leaned over her to grab his smartphone off the bedside table. Then keyed in a text.

Snuggling against her back, he nibbled kisses along her shoulder. Incredibly, after that shattering orgasm—make that two shattering orgasms—she felt the sleeping dragon wake again in her belly.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

Talk about a loaded question.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What are you hungry for?’ he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

‘For food and for you, not necessarily in that order.’

The deep chuckle reverberated against her, sending a ripple down her spine as he cupped her breast and played with the nipple. The arrows of sensation shot straight back to her still tender sex.

‘Sofia will leave us food in the kitchen for later. But first you must rest.’

The tenderness in his voice, and the feel of his thumb teasing her nipple, made her feel warm and languid, but far too turned on.

‘Why must I?’ she asked.

She didn’t want to sleep. She’d had over ten days to sleep and now she finally had him where she wanted him, why would she waste time sleeping?

‘Because you will need your strength for what I plan to do to you next.’

She shifted around, so she could look over her shoulder to gauge his expression. ‘Really? You’re going to make love to me again?’ She could hear the eagerness in her voice and hoped she didn’t sound like a nymphomaniac. But already the renewed stirrings of hunger in her belly were becoming unbearable.

Clearly satisfaction was a relative term, and, when it came to Dario De Rossi, she might never be satisfied.

He sighed against her hair. ‘I have no choice. My will is not my own any more.’

It seemed a strange thing to say. Why would he choose not to make love to her, when he now had conclusive proof she was fully recovered from her accident?

Before she had the chance to debate the puzzling thought, or ask any of the many other questions that had tormented her about him, his hand slid off her hip, and sure seeking fingers found her sex, blasting into oblivion everything but the renewed surge of longing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘CAN I ASK you a question?’ Megan’s eyes brightened, her voice eager, as she laid Sofia’s antipasti onto an earthenware platter.

It was late, and Dario was ravenous. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just for the array of cold food his housekeeper had left out for them.

How could he still want her? When he’d spent the last six hours with her in his arms—none of it catching up on the sleep he had lost in the last week.

He tore off chunks of the sesame seed bread Sofia made fresh each morning and added it to their midnight feast.

‘You may ask,’ he said, reserving the right to refuse her, the anticipation in her eyes making him instantly wary. He should never have touched her. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. But ultimately he had been unable to stop himself from taking what she offered so eagerly. And now he would have to pay the consequences—by finding a way to deflect her curiosity again, without feeling like a bastard.

‘There are so many things I want to ask you about that night.’

Dario carried the platter and their glasses to the moonlit terrace, the fresh scent of sea air and citrus fruit doing nothing to appease the clutching sensation in his gut.

Was her memory about to return at last? Perhaps the sex had finally jogged something loose?

‘What do you wish to know?’ he asked, cautiously.

Lloyd Whittaker had been charged and arraigned, thanks to Katie’s testimony. He had been refused bail and would be standing trial in a few months. Megan hadn’t mentioned him though, not since she had woken up in the hospital—convincing Dario her memory loss was centred exclusively on her father. If she asked about him now, it would surely mean her mind was finally healing as well as her body. But as she sat down opposite him at the table and began to serve them both from the platter, her vibrant hair the colour of rich red flames in the light from the citronella candles, he didn’t feel as pleased at the prospect of her memory returning as he should.

Here was a chance to finally end this charade. To free them both from the obligations brought about by Whittaker’s attack and Megan’s subsequent amnesia.

But as he watched her tuck into Sofia’s verdure misti—clearly considering what she wanted to ask very carefully—his mind spun back through the events of the past week. Against all the odds, and despite the knife-edge of sexual frustration that had been driving him insane for days, he had looked forward to seeing her each evening.

At last she looked up from her plate. The sheen of olive oil on her lips made them look even more kissable than usual. Dario licked his own lips.

This was just sexual desire, nothing more. His hunger for her was clouding his usually crystal-clear judgment. Anything she wanted to know he would be happy to tell her—because it would bring her memory back sooner and that was what he wanted.

‘Would you tell me about yourself?’ she said.

Anything except that.

His shoulders tightened. ‘What do you wish to know?’ he said, stalling.

She smiled shyly, the subtle shift of her lips as sexy as it was beguiling. ‘Everything. All the things you told me that night about your hopes and dreams and where they came from.’

‘But I told you nothing.’ He never talked about his past, his childhood, because it had no part in who he was now. He’d made absolutely sure of that, erasing all but the most basic facts about his life from the media narrative of his success.

‘Don’t be silly.’ She seemed amused at his attempt to correct her. ‘You must have told me something for me to have fallen in love with you.’

The happy expression on her face made his heart kick against his chest in hard, heavy thuds.

They weren’t in love. He had never loved anyone—not since… He shut down the thought.

‘I expect I told you loads of stuff too,’ she added in that effortlessly optimistic tone. As if love were something you would want, instead of something that would only hurt you. ‘But I can’t seem to remember that either. So you’re going to have to help me remember.’

But there is nothing to remember.

‘I don’t know what you would want to know,’ he said, still stalling.

‘Then how about I ask you all the things I’m curious about now, because that’s probably what I asked before?’

He didn’t know how to reply to that, but she didn’t really give him much of an opportunity before she had launched into her first question. ‘The article in Forbes said you grew up in Rome.’

‘I grew up outside Rome, in one of the government-funded housing projects constructed for the Roma community,’ he said, reluctantly. The snap of bitterness in his voice that he couldn’t control, though, surprised him.

He’d realised a long time ago that the experience of waking up to the scrabble of rats outside the trailer window and the sound of his own teeth chattering during winters in the slum, or the fetid smell of rotting trash and effluent from the urinals that marked the summer months, were the very experiences that had driven his need to succeed. He’d long ago come to terms with the terrible privations of his childhood. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of his origins, but still he had no desire to revisit that time in his life.

‘You’re of Roma descent? That’s amazing,’ she said, as if this were something to be proud of.

He frowned. Didn’t she know that the Roma people had been treated like the scum of Europe—ghettoised and vilified, their way of life stigmatised for generations?

‘My mother was.’ The information slipped out, as he recalled the woman who had been so proud of her heritage, despite the hovel they’d lived in.

‘She was?’ Sympathy and compassion clouded Megan’s eyes, making the antipasti in his stomach threaten to revolt. ‘I’m so sorry, Dario. Is your mother dead?’

For a moment, the memories threatened to flood in on him. Memories he had spent a lifetime forgetting. ‘Yes, but it was a long time ago.’

‘Oh, no, were you a child?’

‘No,’ he said, because he had never been a child, not in the sense she meant. Grasping his fork in stiff fingers, he scooped up a mouthful of Sofia’s grilled aubergine. It tasted like chalk as he swallowed.

‘What about your father?’ she asked.

‘I never knew him,’ he said, the lie coming much more easily this time.

He heard a groan, and looked up to see Megan digging a knuckle into her temple as if trying to erase something from her mind.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, but… It’s like there’s a darkness lurking at the edge of my consciousness and I don’t want to let it in.’ Had the question about his father made her think of her own? And all the things she was trying so hard to forget?

He got out of his chair. ‘Then don’t.’ Smoothing the unruly hair back from her brow, he took her other hand, and tugged her out of the chair. ‘It has been a long day. You must get some rest now.’

‘Really, it’s nothing. I’m fine.’ She dropped her hand. ‘It’s gone now.’

‘I insist. You must rest.’ Despite her protests, he scooped her into his arms, the desire to protect her from the demons that might be chasing her foolish in the circumstances, but there nonetheless. He needed her to remember, but if remembering still caused her pain…

She gripped his neck, looking a little perturbed. ‘Put me down, Dario,’ she said. ‘You’re overreacting. I can walk.’

He tightened his grip, taking her into the house. ‘Let me carry you. It is my fault you are over-tired.’

She held on to his neck and stopped struggling, but the look she sent him was one of frustration. He didn’t care. He was right. They had overdone things because where she was concerned he was incapable of keeping his libido in check.

‘I don’t see how it’s your fault when I seduced you,’ she said, indignant now.

‘That is debatable,’ he said, but he couldn’t help smiling at the stubborn lift of her chin, or the combative light in her eyes. He was beginning to discover how brave and spirited she could be, for a woman who had been brutalised. Unfortunately, it only turned him on more.

He felt the familiar response in his groin and took a turn once he’d mounted the stairs towards her suite of rooms.

‘Stop right there. I’m not going to my own rooms,’ she shouted, and all but threw herself out of his arms—a bit too brave and spirited for his liking.

He swore as he scrambled to gather her back up. ‘Come back here.’

‘No.’ She batted his hands away.

‘You need to sleep. You must do as I tell you.’

‘I’ll do no such thing. You have to stop treating me like a child, Dario. I’m a grown woman. I can make decisions for myself.’

He could feel his own frustration kicking in. ‘Not when you make the wrong ones.’

Like believing even for a second you could have fallen in love with a man like me.

‘Will you listen to yourself?’ Megan propped her hands on her hips.

How could she want to kiss him and strangle him at the same time? Seriously though, they were getting this straight once and for all. No more excuses and no more distractions.

‘This is not the nineteenth century and you are not in charge of me.’

‘You need rest. It is past midnight and you have reached orgasm six times today,’ he shot back.

So he’d been counting. Why did that make her feel so much better?

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like the poster boy for stubborn manhood, strong and indomitable. He who should be obeyed at all costs.

Well, not by me, buster.

His biceps bulged deliciously beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

Her sex clenched.

Fine, maybe some distractions were going to be impossible to ignore. But that didn’t mean she was going to let him get away with his high-handed attitude a moment longer. They’d come so far this evening.

The sex had been awesome, but the tantalising glimpse of intimacy had been even more so. Because the few things she had discovered about him tonight had intrigued and moved her in ways she couldn’t explain.

Who would have believed that beneath the charming, charismatic sex god lurked a man who could look stricken when he was asked about his mother? He’d masked it quickly, but she’d seen enough to be touched—and compelled to wonder about so many things. Things she hoped to be able to discover about him in the days ahead. But she couldn’t do that if she allowed him to push her away again—to compartmentalise their time together and keep her at arm’s length.

‘And I enjoyed every single one of those orgasms,’ she said, something rich and empowering surging through her when his face flushed with aggravation. Sex was the key.

She knew sex, even great sex, didn’t necessarily translate into emotional intimacy—especially with a man who was so adept at hiding his feelings. But it was a very good start. Not to mention rewarding in its own right.

‘But we wouldn’t have been at it for six hours straight if you hadn’t denied us both the pleasure of sleeping together for a whole week,’ she added.

‘You were recovering from your accident,’ he said.

‘And now I’m not recovering any more. I’m recovered. I think we proved that comprehensively this evening.’

Something flickered across his face again, before he looked away. She touched his forearm, felt it tense beneath her fingers.

‘How about a compromise?’ she murmured. She didn’t want to argue with him.

‘What compromise?’ he said grudgingly.

She smiled, amused by the muscle bunching in his jaw. For a moment he reminded her of a petulant child, so used to getting his own way he had forgotten how to bend. Only he wasn’t a child, not in any sense of the word. Because…biceps.

‘This is funny somehow?’ The muscle in his jaw started to throb.

She bit down on her lip, trying not to let loose the smile that wanted to burst over her face.

Because instead of finding his taciturn show of temper intimidating, she found it exhilarating…and unbearably arousing.

His gaze glided down to her mouth, and she felt the spark of awareness leap between them.

‘Here’s what I suggest,’ she said, deciding to ignore his rhetorical question. ‘I’ll consider taking your advice about my welfare, if I think it’s warranted, but only if you agree to let us start behaving like a couple.’

No way was she letting him confine her to her own bedroom again.

‘What does that mean? We are already together here.’

‘I want to share a bed with you.’

His eyes narrowed and she could see he was about to refuse, so she jumped in before he could.

‘I want us to sleep together…’ She hesitated. Would this make her sound too needy? She frowned. How could it when they were engaged? Since when did engaged couples sleep in separate rooms? ‘I like being in your arms. I want to go to sleep with you and to wake up with you. It’s important to me.’

Dario knew he should refuse. She did not know what she was asking. They weren’t a couple.

But before he could force the words out, she said, ‘You make me feel safe, Dario. I don’t want there to be so much distance between us. Or why are we even considering getting married?’

The plea in her voice made him feel like a bastard. He should tell her now that the engagement had been a ruse. A ruse that had got out of control. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something about the way she was looking at him, as if he could harness the moon and the stars for her if she asked him to, made him want to say yes.

She trusted him. When she learned the truth, it would crush that trust. But until then, he wanted her to feel safe and secure.

He cupped her cheek, his heart thundering in his chest when she leant into the caress and smiled.

‘I can accept that compromise…’ he said, touching his thumb to her bottom lip. ‘But only if you promise to let me seduce you when we get to my bed?’

Maybe it had been a mistake to deny them both the physical pleasure that flared so easily between them? Perhaps this physical closeness was what she needed to find the strength to battle the darkness lurking at the edges of her consciousness. And really, what better way was there to distract her from her foolish desire to get to know him better? Which was all part and parcel of her foolish delusions that she loved him—or had ever loved him.

She smiled, the quick grin captivating and full of mischief. ‘Absolutely—assuming of course I don’t seduce you first,’ she said, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

‘Dio!’ He reached for her hand and marched towards his own bedroom. Her seductive chuckles spurred the aching hunger in his groin.

Somehow or other he’d completely lost the upper hand in this negotiation, but the feel of her hand in his—and the thought of having her in his bed tonight, all night—was like a heady drug, making it hard for him to remember why exactly he had ever insisted on keeping her out of it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MEGAN SQUINTED AT the sun shining through the shutters and stretched, disappointed to find Dario’s side of the bed empty. Again. After over a week of waking up in Dario’s bed she still hadn’t managed to wake up before him. Her body protested, the desire to slip back into sleep almost overwhelming. She yawned, forcing the tiredness back. And grinned. Too much spectacular sex could be exhausting.

As she rolled over onto her belly, her grin widened at the sight of Dario’s smartphone on the bedside table. He couldn’t be far, probably in his study next door catching up on emails while she slept the day away.

Thank goodness he hadn’t left without her. He’d mentioned a speedboat trip to the lagoon on the other side of the island today—one of the many trips and excursions they’d been on ever since she’d moved into his suite of rooms.

She’d used her newfound boldness to insist he start taking her with him each day on his different trips. And although he’d been reluctant at first, she was so glad she had insisted—because she’d discovered so many amazing things, not just about the island but about Dario, too.

Isadora had only a small fishing village on the other side of the peninsula on which the villa sat, many of whose inhabitants had to commute to the mainland to find work. Dario had invested a lot in rejuvenating the island’s once thriving community—building a new dock, constructing the villa itself and resurrecting the old olive, lemon and blood orange groves that had once thrived in the volcanic soil and had been a mainstay of the island’s economy.

Each day, Megan would discover a new aspect to everything he was doing on the island, as he oversaw those projects with her in tow.

For a billionaire with a portfolio of international companies and investments, Dario had no qualms about getting his hands dirty. And the islanders hero-worshipped him, while also being comfortable treating him like one of their own.

Maybe she hadn’t made much headway getting him to talk more about himself, or his past, but everything else she’d discovered had only made her fascination with him increase.

He was still bossy, but she had begun to realise that was all part of how focused and intense he was. He would never ask something of someone he wasn’t prepared to do himself. And maybe he was still guarded about personal information. But his focus and intensity each night in bed—and on the occasions when they snatched a chance to make love in the daylight—showed a care and concern for her pleasure that made her sure what they were forging together was much more than just a physical connection.

She could make him laugh, lighten that dark, brooding quality that had once intimidated her, but now made her love him all the more.

And today she had a plan. To make a much bigger dent in that wall he seemed determined to keep erected around his emotions. And her plan was simple. Today was the first day they would be alone for one of their excursions. She would seduce him into a puddle and then pounce on him while he was floating on a cloud of afterglow—unable to resist her brilliantly subtle interrogation.

Of course, her plan was a risky one, because up until now she’d been the one who could barely remember her own name after they made love. But today she planned to get sneaky.

She’d asked Sofia to provide a picnic for their trip—to lull Dario into a false sense of security and satisfy his boundless appetite for food—and she was going to wear her scarlet bikini—to torture him with his boundless appetite for her.

She picked up the phone on the table to check the time.

Nearly noon? She frowned. How could she have slept so late when she had something so important to do today?

Throwing back the cover, she sat up.

Mission: Puddle of Lust, here I come.

The nausea came in a rush, the wave heaving up from her stomach so suddenly she was already gagging as she raced into the bathroom. She made it just in time before she lost last night’s dinner in the toilet bowl.

Finally empty, her stomach settled into an uneasy truce as she sat on the cool tiles. Her whole body ached as she reached to push the flush button.

‘Cara, what happened? Were you sick?’

Dario knelt down beside her and wrapped her robe around her shoulders to cover her nakedness.

‘Yes, I think I must have picked up some kind of bug.’ She placed a hand on her stomach. ‘Although it feels a bit better now I’ve been sick.’

‘Has this happened before?’ The fierce expression made her heart bobble in her chest. Why did he look so disturbed? She hoped he wasn’t going to use a little bit of nausea as an excuse to start treating her like an invalid again.

‘No, not really.’

‘No or not really?’ he said.

Her stomach had been a bit queasy yesterday, and the day before when she’d woken up. But she hadn’t been sick. And it had soon gone away. His brows drew down as he waited for an answer and she decided a white lie might be in order.

‘No, it hasn’t happened before.’ Using the toilet bowl, she pushed herself to her feet, steadfastly ignoring the pitch and roll of her not-completely-calm belly.

She tied the robe around herself and brushed her teeth, before walking past Dario, who still looked concerned.

She escaped into the walk-in closet.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, her voice deliberately light and cheery. ‘All I need is a swim in the lagoon to make me feel better. I’m sorry I slept in so long.’

But when she came out of the closet, he’d disappeared into his office. She heard him talking in rapid Italian on his smartphone. She tuned it out. Thank goodness, he’d found some business thing to keep him occupied. She slipped on a summer dress and sat at the dressing table to slick on sun cream and a touch of lip gloss.

But when Dario returned to the bedroom, his face was still set in the same unforgiving lines. ‘How is your stomach?’

‘It’s wonderful. Really, I’m great now. How long will it take to get to the cove?’ she asked, still trying to inject as much brightness into her voice as she could, while subtly changing the subject.

‘We’re not going to the cove. The helicopter will be ready in ten minutes, to take us to the hospital in Palermo.’

The forbidding expression had her already dodgy tummy jitterbugging. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to hospital over a bit of nausea.’ Why was he overreacting?

‘Tell me, Megan,’ he said, his jaw so tense she wondered he didn’t break a tooth. ‘Have you had a period since we arrived?’

‘No,’ she replied.

‘Then we must go to the hospital for a pregnancy test.’

Shock came first, her stomach jumping right into her throat. ‘But I can’t be pregnant, we’ve used condoms the whole time. It’s not possible.’ It couldn’t be possible. Except… The evidence started to reel off in her mind: her increased bust size, the tiredness and now her upset tummy. But more than that, something else niggled her memory.

Sofia tapped on the bedroom door. ‘The helicopter is waiting, signor. Do you still want the picnic?’

The nausea charged back up Megan’s throat at the mention of food.

‘No, grazie, Sofia,’ she heard Dario murmur as she shot back into the bathroom.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘YOU ARE INDEED pregnant, signora.’ Dr Mascati smiled benignly at Megan. Dario tensed beside her, his expression as guarded as it had been throughout the never-ending helicopter ride from Isadora to the heliport on the roof of the exclusive private maternity centre.

‘Are you sure?’ Dario said, his voice curt. Not angry but not happy either.

Megan understood. This was shocking news. No wonder he’d hardly said a word to her since they’d boarded the helicopter. She hadn’t known what to say either. However whirlwind their engagement, they hadn’t even talked about their wedding yet, so introducing a pregnancy into that was bound to put huge pressure on them both.

But after the last week, the last two weeks, ever since waking up in the hospital, she’d come to terms with why she had agreed to marry him in only one night. Maybe it was mad. But the more she discovered about him, the more she got to know him, the more sure she was that she could love this man.

‘The test is unequivocal,’ the doctor said in his perfect English. ‘There can be no doubt. We can do a scan in a couple of weeks so you can see your baby for yourself.’

‘Okay,’ she murmured, acknowledging the leap of joy despite her shock.

She placed a hand on her stomach, imagining the tiny life growing inside her. However unprepared for this they both were, this pregnancy felt so positive on some elemental level.

Perhaps it was her hormones talking. Or the endorphin high she’d been riding on for the last seven days. But whatever it was, she knew instinctively that despite the challenges and problems ahead they would be able to deal with them.

Maybe it had only been a few weeks, but Dario—so protective, so caring, so solid and sure of himself—would make an amazing father, and she… She would do everything within her power to be the mother this tiny life deserved.

Dario spoke to the doctor in rapid Italian, but the conversation floated somewhere over Megan’s head as she caressed her invisible baby bump. And tried to contain the secret smile in her heart.

Dario was obviously unsure about this development; she could tell that already from his reaction to her sickness, which she realised now had been panic. Pure and simple. She just hadn’t recognised it as such, because he always seemed so confident and commanding. But once they were alone together, they could talk about his misgivings. This pregnancy didn’t have to be a bad thing.

‘Megan, we must go now.’ Dario’s words jolted Megan out of her reverie.

‘Oh, yes, thank you, Dr Mascati,’ she said, trying not to sound too spacey. Even if she felt as if she were flying somewhere above the cosmos at the moment.

Dario rested an arm around her waist to guide her out of the doctor’s office. They made their way back up to the roof, Dario gripping her hand as they crossed the heliport to the waiting chopper. He said nothing, his face now an implacable mask.

She stared out of the window on the flight back. The noise of the chopper’s blades made it impossible to speak and she was grateful for that, because she wanted to get her thoughts together. He would need reassurance. Understanding.

But she was confident he would come around to the idea given time and encouragement. If he was sure enough of his feelings to ask her to marry him after only one night, no way would he be too scared to take on this responsibility once he knew how positive she was about it.

The sun dipped towards the horizon as they swooped over the villa and came into land on the cliff-top heliport.

Dario led her back to their suite of rooms in silence. Sofia arrived to lay out a meal for them on the terrace. The housekeeper sent her a gentle smile and Megan smiled back at her. Did she know already?

She stared out at the sea, the sky lit in a redolent array of red and gold and deep darkening blues. Isadora was such a beautiful place. What a wonderful place this would be to bring up a child.

No, that was silly, Dario had a life in New York, and so did she. But surely they could spend summers here—with their baby. She had to tell Katie. Her sister would be an auntie.

‘Eat, Megan. You must be hungry.’ She glanced back to find Dario watching her. She dialled down her excitement.

She was getting way ahead of herself. There was still so much to talk about. So much to discuss. She mustn’t try and second-guess Dario’s feelings. The doctor had said the pregnancy was still in the very early stages.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, although the truth was she was far too nervous to eat. ‘This looks delicious.’ She picked up her fork and forced down a few bites of the aubergine and cherry tomato pasta she was sure Sofia had produced for her delicate stomach on Dario’s orders.

‘Do you want to talk about the baby?’ she asked, as nonchalantly as she could, while she watched him closely, to gauge his reaction.

The impassive mask cracked, revealing something she didn’t understand until he said, ‘It is not a baby yet. It is a collection of cells.’

The flat words tore into the excitement that had buoyed her up through the helicopter ride.

Her fork clattered onto the plate. ‘I know I’m only a few weeks pregnant, but…’ She stalled, suddenly scared to say what she thought.

‘But what?’ he asked, not unkindly.

‘It feels like a baby to me,’ she managed around the feeling of dread suddenly pushing against her throat.

What would she do if he wanted her to have a termination? She hadn’t even considered that option. Wasn’t sure she could go through with it even if that was what he wanted. Had she been foolish, expecting him to be as happy about this unexpected event as she was? Probably, yes.

‘Don’t you want this baby?’ she managed to say. Prepared for the worst, but desperately hoping for the best.

He looked away, across the terrace towards the sea, the breeze lifting the thick waves of his hair, lost in thought for a moment. But when he turned towards her, his gaze was shadowed and unreadable. ‘That is not my decision. It is yours.’

The bright bubble of hope burst at the pragmatic tone.

Her hand strayed back to her tummy, and she looked down at the still invisible bump. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked furiously, desperate not to let them fall. It was just all so overwhelming. Not only the news about the baby, but how she felt about Dario. If she chose to have it, would it tear them apart? And if she chose not to, would it tear her apart?

Courage, Megan.

Dario was right: this was her choice to make and she’d already made it. She had to stand up for this child, and hope that, however early it was, this pregnancy wouldn’t destroy what she was just starting to build with Dario.

Wiping away the errant tear that had slipped over her lid, she forced her gaze to his and smiled at him. ‘I want to have your baby, Dario. Very much.’

He stiffened, and for once she could see his feelings written plainly on his face. He didn’t look upset by her response—or particularly pleased either. He simply looked stunned.

He dipped his head, the nod almost imperceptible. ‘I see,’ he said.

She clasped her hands in her lap, but she couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling, the emotion pressing on her chest too huge to deny as the bridge they had spent one glorious week building felt as if it were collapsing into a yawning chasm.

He didn’t want this baby. She could see it in the rigid line of his jaw, the shadowed distance in his eyes.

‘Dario, please tell me how you feel about it,’ she begged, using every ounce of the courage she had left as another tear slid down her cheek.

He shook his head, then reached over to brush the tear away. The tender gesture made her heart ache even more.

Pushing back his chair, he stood up. ‘You are tired, piccola. We can discuss this tomorrow.’

She should say something, anything—they needed to discuss this now, before he had a chance to retreat even further into that protective shell—but the last of her courage deserted her when he lifted her into his arms.

She clung to him as he carried her into their bedroom.

They would make love, she told herself desperately. That would make everything better. They were always so close when they made love.

He undressed her, but when she thought he would reach for her, he didn’t. Instead he brought her one of his T-shirts, and helped her into it.

‘Why do I need this?’ she asked.

‘Because your other nightwear tempts me too much,’ he said. ‘You need sleep, cara.’ He tucked the thin sheet around her and stood up.

‘Aren’t you coming to bed, too?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, I have some work to do. I will be in later.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Go to sleep. It has been an exhausting day.’

She wanted to argue with him, but her limbs were already melting into the bed. She curled up, taking in the comforting scent of sandalwood that clung to the sheets.

It was okay. She was still in his bed. And he would be back soon. Then they would make love. And all their differences would melt away.

‘Don’t be long,’ she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.

But he had already left the room.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘SHE’S PREGNANT? FROM the look on your face, I’m guessing that’s not good news,’ Jared said, his voice as dispassionate as usual over the scratchy Internet connection.

Dario rubbed his forehead, trying to erase the picture lodged there of Megan crouched on the bathroom floor retching this morning. And the single tear drifting down her cheek this evening in the dusk as she told him she wanted to have his child.

He was shattered, the strain of trying to keep his emotions in check the whole day too much even for him. He had called his friend to get some advice. Even though he knew already, there was no advice that would fix this.

‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘It happened on our first night. We had agreed she would take the morning-after pill, but now she doesn’t remember that conversation.’ He raked his hand through his hair, and stared out into the starry night sky, the full moon reflecting off the bay.

The shock of this morning’s discovery had left him reeling. He couldn’t become a father. And Megan did not want to be a mother—something she would know when her memory returned. But as that hadn’t happened, the way forward now was fraught with complications—and heartache.

And the last week had only complicated the situation more. It was all his fault.

He should never have given into his hunger for her and taken her back into his bed. And he should never have agreed to her requests to accompany him during the day. Because the time they’d spent together, instead of reinforcing all the reasons why they could never be a couple, had done exactly the opposite.

He’d become completely enchanted with her. Not just her enthusiasm and responsiveness in bed, but the way she behaved out of it.

He’d come to adore the bright, eager and surprisingly well-informed chatter about all the improvements he was making to the island. He’d been charmed by the way she had captivated the local fishermen with her faltering Italian or bonded with Matteo Caldone’s wife over how to make gnocchi. And had come to rely on having her with him, having her by his side. She had made even the most tedious details of his working life an adventure. When he’d woken up this morning, he’d been stupidly excited about the prospect of taking her for a swim in a lagoon, knowing how much he would enjoy seeing her wide-eyed wonder at the cove’s natural beauty. In the space of one short week, she’d managed to turn him into someone he didn’t even recognise. Someone fun and playful and optimistic in a way he hadn’t been in years. In short, a besotted fool.

But worse than that, in the past week, their fake relationship had started to feel real. Real enough that even the thought of her giving herself to another man had begun to torture him. And he had forgotten to be cautious and careful with her feelings as well as his own.

But this morning’s bombshell had brought that illusion crashing down around his ears.

This relationship wasn’t real.

He could never love Megan—however much he had enjoyed her companionship in the past week or the intense physical connection they shared. And Megan didn’t really love him, because any feelings she had for him were based on a lie. But even knowing all this, when she had stared at him out of misty green eyes and told him she wanted to have his child, for one terrifying moment he had actually wanted it to be true.

It was all such a catastrophic mess, and he didn’t know how the hell to get them both out of it.

‘So she still doesn’t remember that you were never engaged for real?’ Jared said.

Dario shook his head.

‘Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth and see what happens, pal.’

Jared was right, of course. He should have said something tonight when he’d had the opportunity. Should have said something a week ago, before he’d taken her back into his bed. But still he kept second-guessing himself.

‘What if I do that and it only confuses her more?’ A tiny, foolish part of him almost wished she never regained her memory. It just went to show how far he had lost his grip on reality.

‘Doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice,’ Jared said. ‘It’s either that or she has the kid and you pretend to love her for the rest of your life.’

‘No, that is not an option, either.’ His head felt as if it were about to explode, the fear that had haunted him since childhood making his heart kick his ribs in harsh erratic thuds.

‘Sorry I can’t be of more help, man,’ Jared said, sounding as dejected as he felt. ‘Good luck.’

Signing off, Dario turned off his laptop and walked back into the bedroom.

She lay curled on the bed, having kicked off the sheet. Her body looked small and defenceless as she moved restlessly in her sleep. He should sleep elsewhere, but as a small moan escaped he found himself taking off his clothing and slipping into the bed. He cradled her quaking body in his arms, and inhaled the flowery fragrance of her hair. Her breathing deepened as he stroked the soft strands to quieten her and the arousal that was always there became a dull ache in his groin.

‘Shh, piccola,’ he murmured as he struggled to find his own peace. And a way out of this mess—without hurting the smart, sweet, beautiful woman he had come to know.

‘You stupid slut! You’re worse than your mother.’

The darkness came to her in dreams, seeping into her consciousness where she couldn’t defend herself against it. She saw her father’s face contorted with rage, sweat dripping down his mottled skin as he screamed at her.

Pain rained down on her, striking her shoulders, her back, lancing through her heart, shattering everything she had ever known about herself and her place in the world.

‘You’re not mine! You and your sister were whelps from her lovers.’

Her broken sobs echoed in her head, as she begged her daddy not to hurt her any more. But her daddy wasn’t her daddy now, and he hated her.

Just as the pain became unbearable, Dario’s voice beckoned her out of the nightmare. ‘Shh, Megan, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe.’

She awoke with a start in the darkened bedroom with Dario’s arms around her.

Shapes formed in the moonlight. Familiar, comforting shapes. Dario’s face harsh with concern. The giant bed where they had slept together in each other’s arms. Luxury furnishings gilded by the light of the waning Mediterranean moon. The citrus and sea scented breeze brushed her naked skin through the open shutters. And for a moment she did feel safe. Secure. Loved… So happy.

But then the darkness unfolded as the dream returned. Not a dream this time though, but terrible reality: the kaleidoscopic colours of the ballroom as Dario spun her around in a circle on their pretend date; her sobs of fulfilment as he stroked her to orgasm; the wry tilt of his lips as they discussed emergency contraception; the shuddering humiliation as she received her father’s text.

Nausea pitched and rolled in her belly. Clammy sweat covered her body. And horror hit her hard in the chest.

‘Cara, are you okay?’ he said, his voice gentle, coaxing.

But she knew the truth now. And his concern, his care, wasn’t love. It was pity.

She could feel the phantom pain from her father’s belt and see the dispassionate concern so clearly on Dario’s face as he knelt next to her shattered body.

‘Let me go.’ Pushing against his hold, she wrestled with the cloying sheet, climbed off the bed.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said, pulling back the sheet to follow her.

She scrambled away from him, her back hitting the wall of the bedroom, the cool plaster chilling her fevered flesh. ‘You lied. Why did you lie to me? We were never engaged!’

For a moment he looked shocked, but then she saw the guilty flash of knowledge. Her thundering heart felt as if it were being crushed in her chest.

‘Your memory has returned?’ he said, his voice patient. And tightly controlled.

She gagged. Rushing into the bathroom, she heaved what little she’d eaten the night before into the toilet bowl. As she carried on heaving she heard him enter the bathroom behind her.

A dim light came on and warm hands settled on her shoulders.

She spun out of his grasp. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He stood in sweat pants, his magnificent body mocking her. How ridiculous she had been, to think for even a moment that a man like him would ever love her.

He had been nothing more than a glorious one-night stand—was never meant to be more than that—and because she had lost her memory, he had spun out a lie.

But why? Why would he do that?

He lifted a hand. Like a man trying to calm a frightened beast. ‘You are over-emotional. Come back to bed so we can talk.’

She shook her head, trying to hold on to the tears making her sinuses ache. ‘How could you pretend we were engaged? That we were in love? For all this time? Why would you?’

It had all been a lie. How could he justify it to himself? And how could she? She’d fallen in love with an illusion. None of this had been real. Her hand strayed to her stomach and the baby growing there. None of it except her child.

The child he didn’t want, and now she knew why.

‘You are overwrought. You need to calm down,’ he said.

Anger flared. She clung onto it desperately, through the heartache and the weariness. ‘Don’t patronise me. Tell me the truth. Why did you tell me we were engaged? Why did you make me believe you loved me?’

He stiffened at the use of the word. And her already battered heart cracked silently in two.

‘I never pretended to love you,’ he said, and the last remnants of hope that she hadn’t even realised she still clung to withered and died. ‘I wanted you to get well,’ he said. ‘Which is why I brought you here. Away from the press, the trial, so you could recover. It was for your own good.’

‘You slept with me, knowing I didn’t know the true nature of our relationship. How could that be for my own good?’

His eyes darkened, his jaw tensed, and she felt the spark of electricity arc between them. She folded her arms across her chest, her swollen breasts tender and far too sensitive under that searing gaze. The T-shirt he had helped her into before bedtime suddenly felt see-through, every inch of skin prickling with the need to feel his touch as memories of that first night, of the past seven nights in his arms assaulted her.

‘You offered yourself to me,’ he said. ‘And I should have resisted. But everything we did together we both enjoyed.’

It sounded reasonable, persuasive even. And of course, he was right. She had begged for him to make love to her. Except it had never been love. At least not for him. ‘Did you ever care for me at all?’

‘Of course I did,’ he said, the frustration in his voice helping her to bury the agonising hurt deep.

‘And what about the baby? Perhaps you should tell me how you really feel about that now.’ But she already knew, the bitter truth turning her insides to jelly.

He heaved a deep sigh. Seeing the agony in his eyes made her want to weep. ‘Megan, it is complicated. You must see that? Now you remember everything?’

He stepped forward, but she threw up a hand. ‘Please don’t, don’t come any closer.’ She couldn’t stay strong, stay invulnerable, make any sense of this if he touched her. The chemistry between them had messed with her head all the way down the line. And made her fall in love with a phantom.

‘My father attacked me because he hated me.’ She pushed the words out past the thickness in her throat. The cruel, ugly words her father had said striking her all over again with more viciousness than the belt he’d used on her. ‘He pretended to care about us for years because of the money in our trust funds. But this…’ she swung her hand between them ‘…what you did, feels so much worse.’

Dario dragged a hand through his hair, cursed under his breath. ‘I understand you are angry and upset,’ he said. ‘But let us talk about this in the morning. It’s the middle of the night. You’re tired. Come back to bed. I can make you feel better.’

‘You think sex will make this better?’ she said, stunned.

‘I think it cannot hurt,’ he said.

The wry twist of his lips made her heart shatter at her feet. That he had manipulated her with sex wasn’t really the point, because she had revelled in her own destruction. That he thought it would make things better now, though, almost made her feel sorry for him.

How could anyone have such a jaundiced view of love and relationships that they thought sex was the only connection worth having?

He approached her.

But she held up her hand. ‘No. I don’t want to sleep with you, Dario.’

Of course, they both knew that wasn’t strictly true. She only had to be in a room with him for her body to prepare itself for him. To yearn for him. It would be humiliating if it weren’t so sad.

But she refused to give in to the yearning. She had to guard what little was left of her heart. In the hope that, one day, she would be able to heal. And move on from this.

‘I need to think,’ she said as her mind raced. She had to get away from him. Get away from Isadora. If for no other reason than to protect her child. ‘I want to return to my own room.’

For a moment she thought he looked stricken at the suggestion, but it could only be an illusion like everything else. She had never been able to read him, or his feelings; her emotions had played tricks on her in the last few weeks, but that was the biggest trick of all.

She moved past him into the bedroom, pathetically grateful when he made no move to stop her. Her whole body began to shake, heat flushing through her, when she glanced at the bed, the rumpled sheets a testament to her foolishness and naiveté.

She had spent her whole life trying to please her father, a man who had never loved her. And if her memory hadn’t returned, she might have done the same thing again with Dario.

‘We will speak of this again in the morning,’ Dario said from behind her. ‘And find a solution.’

She turned around as she reached the bedroom door. The red fingers of dawn had begun to lighten the sky outside, shadowing his handsome face, and her heart squeezed tight in her chest. For just a moment, he looked like the loneliest man on earth.

‘I never meant for you to be hurt,’ he said.

The last tiny flicker of hope guttered out as she acknowledged something incontrovertible. Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her, the way her father had. But the truth was he had.

She left the room as one of the tears she had promised herself she wouldn’t shed slipped over her lid. She scrubbed it away with her fist.

After returning to her bedroom, she kept the exhaustion and the heartache at bay to dress.

She called Katie on her cell, and tiptoed out of the house, then rushed through the lemon groves down to the harbour, where the fishermen would be setting out for their morning catch.

As she stood on the deck of a small fishing boat, the aroma of fish and sea salt made her delicate stomach revolt. She retched over the side of the boat, but there was nothing left to throw up. As she raised her head she caught sight of the villa spotlighted on the hilltop in the early summer dawn.

She imagined Dario inside. And all the hopes and dreams that had never been real. Letting them go would be the hardest thing of all. But she had no choice.

While she had been falling hopelessly in love with a fantasy, he had managed to seal himself off from any emotion that would make him vulnerable.

So now she had to do the same.

Dario awoke, the pounding on his bedroom door disorientating him for a moment. He sat up, confused to find the other side of the bed cold. Then the details of the argument just before dawn came back to him.

He swore viciously, trying desperately to ignore the treacherous memory of Megan’s face, white with shock and grief. And worse still, the deep sinking hole in his stomach when he had been forced to let her leave, and had lain in his empty bed alone.

But then he registered what his housekeeper was shouting through the door.

‘Signor! Signor! La signorina e andato, ha lasciato con I pescatori.’

Megan has left with the fishermen? What the…?

He leapt out of bed, dragging a robe on as he raced to the door to find Sofia on the other side looking distraught as she explained in frantic Italian what she had heard from the young man delivering that morning’s fish.

Dread spread through him. Megan had left? She had hitched a lift in a fishing boat in the middle of the night? When she was still dealing with the emotional trauma of her memory returning? When she was pregnant? Was she mad?

He charged down the corridors until he reached her suite of rooms—to find the bed empty and unslept in, and a note addressed to him perched on the bedside table.

He picked it up, and flicked it open.

Goodbye, Dario.

I will take care of a termination.

Please don’t contact me again.

No, no, no.

The note dropped from his numbed fingers and fluttered down onto the carpet.

He should have been relieved, he should have been grateful, that she had come to her senses, was going to do the sensible thing. But he felt none of those things as he clutched his head in his hands, and slumped onto the bed.

The cold, hard lump of devastation and grief in the pit of his stomach dragged him back to another time. He forced his mind to shut down as he lifted his head to stare out of the window at the new summer day, the dawn light spreading over the ocean.

And wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Two months later

MEGAN SAT IN the chauffeur-driven car and watched the phalanx of photographers and reporters charging down the steps of the Manhattan courthouse towards them. Her sister, Katie, gripped her hand.

‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this, sis?’ Katie’s voice vibrated with the strength and maturity that she had gained ever since Megan had returned from Isadora.

Megan squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘We both need to do this to make sure Lloyd Whittaker stays behind bars as long as possible.’

The clamour outside the car became deafening as two burly security guards muscled their way through the crowd and one of them opened the driver’s door.

He leaned into the interior. ‘We have a detail to see you safely into the courthouse, Miss Whittaker. You both okay to go?’

The harsh flash of halogen lights blinded Megan as they stepped out of the car and were muscled into the courthouse, the noise becoming deafening as the reporters shouted questions.

‘Are you here to testify against your father, Miss Whittaker?’

‘Megan, tell us about your affair with Dario De Rossi? Are you two still an item?’

She clung to her resolve, tried to tune out the mention of Dario’s name, to keep her nerves steady. But as they entered the main foyer she saw the tall, lean figure of Dario’s friend Jared Caine standing beside the security checkpoint. And her heart careered into her throat.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Tall, Dark and Patronising,’ Katie said, in a sing-song voice shot through with sarcasm as he walked towards them. Katie hadn’t mentioned Jared before now, but she had never played nice with guys who told her what to do, so her animosity towards Dario’s friend didn’t really surprise Megan.

‘Hello, Miss Whittaker, Katherine,’ Jared said, in the confident, impersonal tone she remembered from the only other time she’d met him. If he’d heard her sister’s jibe, he didn’t let on.

‘Why are you here?’ Megan asked, anxiety gripping her insides.

‘Dario’s giving evidence at the moment,’ he replied.

The news she had been dreading sliced through the defences she had been putting in place ever since running away from Isadora. But she maintained eye contact with Dario’s friend, determined not to give away the turbulent emotions churning in her stomach.

She’d known this was likely. She’d just have to deal with it.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t ready to see him again. He’d done what she’d asked, and hadn’t contacted her since she’d left Isadora at dawn.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Or stop going over every minute, every second she had spent with him since that first night. It was a weakness she would have to get over. Eventually. And it seemed today was the day when she was going to be forced to confront it. And him. For the first time.

She needed to move on from the time they had spent together on Isadora. To accept that it had all been fake. The way he obviously had. Coming to terms with the truth about their relationship as well as the truth about her father—or rather her ex-father—would eventually make her a stronger, more resilient person.

If only she weren’t going to be forced to take that next step today, of all days.

One of the security guards who had helped them into the building appeared to Jared’s right. ‘What’s next, boss?’

‘Stick around. Miss Whittaker and her sister will need an escort when they leave the building,’ Jared replied.

‘Did Dario arrange the bodyguards?’ Megan asked and Jared nodded.

The protective gesture was like a new knife through the heart—and her hard-fought-for composure. She didn’t want any evidence that he still cared, when he had never cared enough.

‘Please, tell Dario we don’t need his help,’ she said.

The tension in Jared’s jaw drew tight. ‘You should tell him yourself. He’s not exactly rational where you’re concerned.’

What did that mean?

But before she could ask, the prosecutor’s intern appeared looking harassed. ‘Miss Whittaker, you’re up next. We need to get you into the courtroom.’

Her stomach continued to rebel as the intern ushered them through the security line, leaving Jared behind.

As she walked into the courtroom her gaze immediately connected with Dario on the witness stand. Her steps faltered, the blast of heat not nearly as disturbing as the pressure on her chest as his gaze swept over her.

From a distance, he looked as indomitable and intimidating as ever, the tailored designer suit, clean-shaven jaw and close-cropped hair a far cry from the intense and yet tender, even playful, man she had glimpsed on Isadora.

Her hand strayed to her stomach, but she forced herself to let it fall away as the intern directed her to the front of the courtroom and the seats behind the prosecutor’s table.

But she couldn’t take her eyes from the man on the witness stand. And as she drew closer, for a moment she thought she saw a flash of pain and longing in those pure blue eyes.

She broke eye contact, the pressure on her chest becoming unbearable.

You’re wrong. Stop deluding yourself.

She needed to cut out that fragile, foolishly optimistic corner of her heart that still believed she loved him, or that he might have grown to love her.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. She had her child to protect now. The child still growing in her womb.

The child she could never tell Dario about, because he had made it clear he had never wanted it, or her.

How can it still hurt so much to look at her?

Unable to detach his gaze from Megan’s, Dario blanked out the defence attorney’s questions.

But then Megan’s gaze dropped away from his. And he felt the loss all over again, as he had so often since that fateful night on Isadora when her memory had returned and he’d seen the pain he’d caused in those expressive emerald eyes.

She looked pale and drawn in the tailored skirt and jacket. Had she lost weight? Her wild red hair was ruthlessly tied back. The style should have made her look severe and unapproachable—but only made her look more fragile and vulnerable to him.

His fingers clenched on the varnished wood of the witness box as he forced his attention back to the defence attorney. He had to concentrate on his evidence—as the man continued his campaign to convince the jury that Dario had been the one to attack Megan and not her father—and ignore the agonising parade of regrets that had plagued him since that night.

Stop trying to remake the past. She ran from you. And rejected your child. This was the outcome you wanted. Why can’t you learn to live with it?

But then the defence attorney’s mouth twisted in a grim approximation of a smile as he delivered a stream of questions that smashed into Dario’s already faltering composure like physical blows.

‘You maintain that you have never hit a woman, Mr De Rossi? That it is simply not in your make-up to do so? But is it not correct that you come from a family with a history of violence against women? That in fact your father was an extremely violent man, who hit you and your mother on numerous occasions? And that you indeed witnessed him beat your mother to death at a very impressionable age?’

Megan’s head jerked up as the court broke into uproar—the barrage of questions, and Dario’s shocked reaction to them, tearing away the stranglehold she had around her own heart.

Oh, please don’t let it be true. Please don’t let him have suffered like that.

Her chest imploded, the information delivered by the lawyer too traumatic to contemplate. But then her heartbeat rammed her throat in hard, heavy thuds as she registered the devastation on Dario’s face—the mask of indifference ripped away to reveal the true horror of what he had once endured, clear for all to see.

And suddenly all the unanswered questions that had plagued her since that night, the questions that had made it so hard for her to move on, slammed into her all over again.

Why had he been so determined to protect her? How could he have made love to her with such passion, such purpose, and felt nothing?

Dario remained speechless, and utterly defenceless as the prosecutor’s attempts to halt the line of questioning were dismissed by the judge.

‘Mr De Rossi must answer the question. The prosecution can determine the relevance of this information in due course.’

The court fell silent, Megan’s heart shattering.

‘I did not consider him my father,’ Dario said in a voice hoarse with raw emotion. ‘The man was a monster.’

‘Indeed,’ the defence attorney said, the word laden with theatrical doubt. ‘And yet it appears you resemble him in no small degree. Is it not the case that you seduced Lloyd Whittaker’s daughter to secure a business deal? That you attacked her when she tried to return to her father? That you spirited her away while she had no memory to your private island in the Mediterranean? And then discarded her when she had outlived her usefulness to you.’

Dario’s eyes met hers, the guilt and regret now so clear and unequivocal, the shudder of yearning and love that flowed through her was beyond her control.

‘I did not leave Megan,’ he said, the resignation in his voice destroying her. ‘She left me.’

The poignant words pierced her heart. And the tug of war she’d been playing with her feelings for Dario was comprehensively lost.

Why had she run from him? Why hadn’t she given him a chance? Given herself a chance?

What she had found with Dario on Isadora might have been built on a lie—but why hadn’t she even considered staying and trying to make it real? Had what she thought was strength been nothing more than cowardice all along?

‘Perhaps we should ask ourselves then why she would run from you, Mr De Rossi?’ the defence attorney continued. ‘And why she would choose not to inform you that she carries your child? Is it because she is terrified of what you might do to her?’

Megan leapt to her feet, her hand cupping her stomach, the puzzled shock on Dario’s face at the news she still carried his child making the guilt lance through her.

What had she done to him? This man who had strived to protect her? The way he had no doubt once strived to protect his mother? All the lies he had told had been to protect her fragile mind from its own fears until she was ready to face them. But the lie she had told him had been to protect herself. Because she had been too weak, too scared, to admit she loved him. And now he was being crucified because of it.

‘Stop, please stop,’ Megan shouted. ‘It’s not true. Dario would never hurt me.’

Noise exploded around her, the judge’s gavel echoing in her head.

‘Meg, are you okay?’ Katie’s fingers gripped her arm as the surge of emotion threatened to choke her.

She swayed.

Her gaze remained locked on Dario’s as he jerked to his feet in the witness box.

She heard the judge’s call to order, the prosecutor’s shouted demands for a recess next to her ear, but the blood buzzing in her head became a cacophony. Her knees dissolved as she dropped into the dark.

‘I have you, cara, you are safe now.’ Dario’s voice beckoned her out of the darkness and into the light, as it had once before.

The clean, spicy aroma of soap and man enveloped her. The noise still surrounded her, but she was in his arms again as he shouldered his way through the crowd, protecting her from the shouted questions, the press of bodies, the bright flash of lights.

The sound of a door slamming cut out the noise until all she could hear was her heart hammering against her ribs.

They were alone in a cramped office, the large desk pushed into a corner surrounded by shelves loaded with leather-bound books.

The July sunlight shone through the window, lighting the dust motes in the air.

‘Can you stand?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’

He put her down, holding on to her waist until he was satisfied she was strong enough to stand unaided.

‘It is true?’ he asked, his gaze focused on her belly, his fingers gliding over the barely visible bulge. ‘About the baby? It still lives?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, they… They think it’s a girl.’

‘Una bambina?’ he said, the sound so full of stunned pleasure her guilt began to strangle her. ‘Bellissima.’

‘I’m so sorry I lied to you in my note. It was cowardly and unforgivable and I—’

‘Shh, cara.’ He brushed the tears away with his thumbs. ‘You are not the coward. I am.’

‘Maybe we were both cowards,’ she ventured.

His lips curved in a sad smile that melted her heart. ‘I think, yes.’

She blinked, feeling the salty sting on her cheeks. ‘Is it true, Dario? What he said happened to your mother?’

Dario stared at the woman in front of him, so brave, so bold, so beautiful. But the earnest question ate into the joy at the news their baby still lived.

He wished she hadn’t heard about his mother, wished she would never have to know the truth of his past. But how could he tell her any more lies?

Guilt consumed him, not just for his part in his mother’s death, but for his part in Megan’s assault. A part he had never truly acknowledged to himself until now.

Maybe he hadn’t been the one to wield the belt, but his actions had left her vulnerable. Left her at the mercy of a violent man—the way he had once left his own mother at the mercy of another violent man.

He stepped back, letting his hands fall from her waist. ‘Yes, it is true. She died and it was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault?’ Megan said, the sympathy and compassion in her eyes making him hate himself even more.

‘I provoked him. My father.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, her dogged defence of him making him more determined than ever that she should know the truth. The whole bitter truth about who he was.

‘And even if you did,’ she added, ‘it still wouldn’t make what he did your fault.’

‘You do not understand,’ he said. ‘He was a powerful man. A rich man with another family. He called me his gypsy bastard, and my mother his whore.’ That the memory of his father’s taunts still haunted and humiliated him only made him feel more ashamed. ‘He enjoyed hurting her. When I woke that night, I saw him on top of her. And I could see how terrified she was.’

‘Oh, Dario.’ She touched his arm. ‘No child should have to endure that.’

He shook his head, planted his fists into the pockets of his trousers, his insides churning with the long-forgotten memories—the hollow aching guilt that would never go away.

‘I shouted at him to leave, to never touch my mother again. I was eight years old, nothing more than a proud, angry boy, and I thought I was man enough to protect her. He was furious. He lost all control, began to beat me with the belt he had used on me before. But this time, I don’t think he would have stopped. My mother saved me. She fought him with the last breath in her body. She died protecting me.’

‘Stop it.’ Megan gripped his arms and shook him, her fierce expression forcing him back to the present, and away from the gut-wrenching guilt of memories. ‘Don’t you dare blame yourself. You were a child when your mother died. Do you understand me? And she died protecting you, because she loved you.’

He tried to absorb what she was saying. But he could not, because he knew his mother’s death wasn’t the only guilt he bore. History had repeated itself with Megan. Just as the defence attorney had implied.

He grasped her cheeks, looked into that brave face and forced himself to admit the final truth that he had been trying to deny for so long.

‘Don’t you see, Megan? I did the same thing to you. I lied to you to get you into my bed that night. I lied about my intentions towards your father’s company. All I thought of was my own pleasure. And you paid the price. My actions provoked Whittaker, in the same way my actions once provoked my father.’

She reached around his waist and pressed her cheek into his sternum. ‘Please stop it, Dario. It’s not true. You mustn’t blame yourself for what my father did to me.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders, wanting to believe her, yearning to hug her back, but terrified of all the emotions rushing to the surface. All the emotions he had spent two months struggling to comprehend.

She smiled up at him, the tender expression making his ribs ache, and his whole body feel as if it were perched on the edge of a precipice.

‘I love you, Dario. So much.’

Gripping her cheeks in trembling palms, he pressed his forehead to hers, wanting to plunge over the edge, as the last of the walls shattered around him.

But how could he ever deserve her, or their child, after all that he had done?

‘You cannot love me,’ he said on a broken breath. ‘I do not deserve it.’

Folding her arms around Dario’s neck, Megan kissed him, tears streaking down her cheeks now. She had to make him believe her, had to make him see that he was worthy of her love.

At last, he opened for her and took her mouth in a deep, seeking kiss. She felt the emotion shuddering through him. And into her.

She loved him. And she suspected he loved her too. But he’d been too scared to acknowledge it to himself, let alone her, because of what had happened to his mother. She understood that now. She had to show him that he didn’t have to be scared of love any more.

She drew back, taking in deep breaths as she saw the torment still shadowing his eyes. ‘Do you love me, too, Dario?’ she asked. ‘Do you want this baby?’

He sighed. ‘Yes. And yes.’ He rested a hand on her stomach as her heart filled with happiness. ‘But I could not bear it if I hurt you again.’

She pressed her palm over his, hearing the raw emotion in his voice.

This was a struggle for him. A struggle that would take time and work to heal all the way, but knowing he loved her, and knowing where his anguish came from—knowing why it had been so hard for him to acknowledge his feelings—was surely the start of something magnificent. Something they could build a future on, with their baby.

‘Dario, I know you’re scared,’ she said. ‘And now I know why you’re scared.’ Because he had been traumatised by his mother’s death as a child.

Her heart would always break for that little boy—who had learned to cope with the trauma by persuading himself he did not deserve to be loved.

She took a breath, her whole heart now lodged in her throat.

‘I’m scared too,’ she said, determined to get through to that little boy. ‘Everyone is scared when they fall in love. Because love is a scary thing. But it’s also a joyous, wonderful thing. And to have the joy, you have to overcome your fear. Can you do that, for me?’

‘But what if I make a mistake?’ he said, still unsure. Still scared. ‘What if I cannot be a good father? A good husband? What if my love for you and our child is not enough?’

‘There aren’t any guarantees. Life isn’t like that.’ She gripped his hands, the love flowing through her so strong now she thought her heart might burst. ‘And believe me—considering how new and untried this adventure is for both of us…’ she smiled ‘…we’re both going to make mistakes. The truth is we’re probably going to make a ton of them. But it will be okay. As long as we make them together.’

He looked down at her belly. ‘But I don’t even know how to be a father. My own father was a monster.’

‘And my mother was a woman who cared more about her next orgasm than she ever did about her daughters,’ she replied, her smile widening. ‘Look at it this way—however rubbish we are at this, we’ll already be so much better than them.’

He nodded and let out a hoarse laugh, which had a wealth of bitter knowledge in it. ‘This is true.’

‘So what do you say, Dario De Rossi? Are you willing to go on this adventure with me?’

Her heart stopped beating, it simply stopped, as she waited for him to answer.

‘You are sure you want to go on this adventure with me?’ he said, the seriousness in his face making her heart jump and pound in her throat.

‘Absolutely.’

He nodded again—the fierce passion that flashed into his eyes as he drew her into his arms choking off her air supply.

‘Then I don’t believe I have a choice,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Even I cannot continue to be a coward in the face of your bravery.’

She wanted to laugh, the joy bursting in her heart almost more than she could bear.

He clasped her cheeks and lifted her head. ‘I think now we must make this engagement real,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me, piccola?’

Her heart soared. ‘Absolutely.’

His mouth swooped down to devour hers, the giddy contentment making her head spin as warm hands cupped her bottom, and heat spread through her.

A loud thumping pulled them apart as Jared’s voice came through the door. ‘Sorry, folks, adjournment’s over. And the judge is getting antsy.’

‘Stall them a minute more,’ Dario shouted back. Then he turned to her, his expression sober. ‘Are you strong enough to take the witness stand after me?’ he asked, searching her face for any signs of fatigue or fragility. ‘If you are not, I will make them wait until tomorrow.’

‘No. I can do it. I want to do it,’ she said, knowing she was strong enough to do whatever it took to put the man who had pretended to be her father behind bars—because with Dario by her side, she was strong enough to do anything. ‘For us.’

Cradling her head in his hands, he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth—the play of his lips full of sincerity and hunger.

‘For us,’ he vowed.

EPILOGUE

One year later

‘SHH, BAMBINA, PAPA is here now.’

Megan stretched on the bed and plumped the pillows behind her as she watched her husband walk back into their bedroom, having retrieved their crying daughter from her crib in the room next door, which had once been his office.

She smiled as the baby quietened, happily settling into her favourite place in all the world, nestled on her father’s shoulder as he rubbed her back with one large hand.

The little diva.

At six months old, Isabella Katherine De Rossi had her father—billionaire master of industry and feared corporate raider—wrapped firmly around her tiny little finger.

‘She is not wet.’ Dario frowned. ‘Could she be hungry again?’ he asked, rocking his daughter gently as he returned to their bed.

Megan yawned, and looked out of the bedroom window to gauge the time by the Mediterranean sun, which was barely creeping over the horizon. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She had her morning feed less than half an hour ago.’ Megan couldn’t contain her grin at the confusion on Dario’s face.

He was still sometimes unsure about his role as a husband and father, and so fiercely protective of them both it often led to him being a bit overzealous when caring for Issy. He was always the first to pick her up if she cried.

‘Do you think she is unwell?’ he said.

‘I think she just likes having you hold her,’ she said. ‘And she knows that if she cries, you’ll rush in there to pick her up.’

The frown eased from Dario’s face and he chuckled as he lay down on the bed beside Megan. Lifting his daughter, he bounced her in his arms. The baby’s delighted chuckle joined his deep laugh.

‘You are a bad bambina,’ he said, rubbing her nose against his own, the tone the opposite of chiding. ‘You mustn’t scare papa like that.’

He settled back, with the baby curled on his broad chest.

With her head tucked under her father’s chin and her small fist stuck in her mouth, Issy dropped into sleep, secure in the knowledge that her father would hold her safe in his arms.

‘Dario,’ Megan said, smiling as Dario turned towards her. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

She’d held it off long enough. Had waited until they were on Isadora again, where the pace of life was slower, less pressured.

The last six months, heck the last year, had been idyllic. She’d never imagined when they’d made that commitment to each other, in the dusty clerk’s office during her father’s trial, that her love for Dario and their child would eventually become so overwhelming, so all-consuming. And because she’d been so content—and maybe also a little scared that this adventure was still so new and fragile, especially for Dario—she hadn’t wanted to make any demands.

He’d changed so much though, from the cautious, guarded man she’d known. He’d been to therapy to help him deal with the lingering trauma of his mother’s death. And they’d made a life for themselves in New York—in the huge brownstone he’d bought a block from Central Park. Their wedding had been a quiet affair on Isadora, with only the islanders and a few of his business associates as guests, plus Katie and Jared as witnesses.

Since their marriage, and even more so since Issy’s birth, Dario had cut back on his business commitments, happy to spend long evenings and lazy weekends with her and Issy rather than building his business empire. Not that he wasn’t still driven and focused, but he was now equally driven and focused about making his personal life as much of a success as his professional one.

And the bond he had established with his daughter was something that filled Megan with joy and wonder and gratitude every single day.

So the time was right to tell him about the interview she’d had last week in Brooklyn while their housekeeper Lydia Brady had looked after Issy. She’d held off and held off telling him about it, because she’d been concerned about his reaction.

Oh, just say it, Meg. For goodness’ sake.

‘Hmm…?’ he murmured as he continued to stroke his daughter’s back.

‘I’ve been offered a job.’

His hand stopped moving as his head jerked round.

Well, that had certainly got his attention.

‘A job where?’

‘It’s a charity in Brooklyn that administers a series of refuges for battered women and their children. They need someone to set up and then operate a new computer system to reduce the amount of time and money they spend on paperwork so they can spend more of it on setting up new refuges.’

He didn’t say anything, but she could see the tension in his jaw. Instead of replying, he suddenly sat up and got off the bed.

‘Dario? Where are you going?’ she asked.

But he didn’t turn to look at her, he simply walked out of the room mumbling, ‘I should put Issy back into her crib.’

Okay, well, that didn’t go according to plan.

Megan’s heart sank as she flopped back onto the pillows, her excitement turning into a tangle of anxieties in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to have a battle with him about this. But it looked as if she might have to.

Dario placed his daughter in her crib, and stroked the soft fluff of red hair on her head.

He wanted so much to say no.

He wanted to tell Megan she couldn’t take the job. He didn’t want her travelling to Brooklyn every day. Working for a charity that he could probably buy and sell several times over. He could fund the place himself. Throw money at them so they wouldn’t need her computer expertise. If she needed a job, he could find her one at Whittaker’s, preferably one that didn’t require her to leave their house.

He wanted to insist that her daughter, their daughter, needed her mother at home. Where she would always be safe. And as their daughter grew, he would want to do the same thing to Issy. And all the other children he hoped they would have one day.

He wanted to wrap his perfect family in cotton wool and keep them locked away for ever from the outside world, so no one and nothing would ever have the power to hurt them. He wanted to protect them with his money, his resources and the last breath in his body. He wanted to cocoon them for ever in the love that still took his breath away every time he laid eyes on either one of them.

But that was the coward’s way out.

Because he’d seen the look of excitement in Megan’s eyes, seen how enthusiastic she was about this new opportunity. And he knew if he loved her, he could not kill that joy—however great his need to protect her from harm.

Damn it. But loving someone more than life itself—the way he loved Megan and Issy—was fraught with so many complications. Complications and difficult choices that he often found it extremely hard to even comprehend, let alone solve.

But then the words Megan had said to him a year ago, in the courthouse in Manhattan, echoed in his head. The words he had had to repeat to himself so many times since: when Megan had been curled over the toilet bowl and throwing up each morning through most of the months of her pregnancy; when he had endured the terror of watching her bring their child into the world through twelve gut-wrenching hours of labour; when he’d held the tiny, vulnerable and unbearably precious life they’d made together in his hands for the first time. The words he knew he would be repeating to himself for the rest of his life: when Issy took her first step; when he had to leave her on her first day of school; when he taught her how to ride a bike, drive a car, sail a boat, fly a helicopter; when she went off to Harvard or Yale—because, obviously, his daughter was going to be the smartest, bravest, most brilliant child the world had ever seen.

To have the joy you have to overcome your fear.

He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the soft skin of his daughter’s forehead; her tiny chest rose and fell in the regular rhythm of deep sleep. Relief eased some of the tightness in his chest. Thank goodness, he wouldn’t have to face most of those fears with his daughter for a little while at least.

Walking back into the bedroom, he spotted Megan sitting up in their big bed, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees.

‘Dario? I need to know what you think,’ she said, her anxiety tempered with determination. ‘About me taking the job?’

He climbed onto the bed, then gathered her into his arms. He held her tight, let the swell of arousal—that was always there when she was near him—help him to push out the words.

‘You want to take this job?’ he asked as he kissed her hair, even though he already knew the answer.

‘Yes, I do.’ She swung round in his arms, the eagerness on her face crucifying him a little more. ‘I thought it all through about Issy’s care while I’m at work. Lydia is fabulous with her, and she’s happy to step in. And we’ve got more than enough other staff to take up the slack.’

He’d employed Lydia Brady as soon as he and Megan had moved into the new town house he’d bought on the Upper East Side—concerned that the penthouse apartment might not be suitable for a child. He’d also insisted on hiring three additional staff. Something he knew Megan still struggled with. He was forever coming home and finding the staff helping Megan with some charity project or other that had nothing to do with their domestic duties.

‘And anyway, I’m only going to be working three hours a day to start,’ his wife continued. ‘I told them I want to take the time to wean Issy properly.’

‘Shh, Megan.’ He tucked her hair behind her ears, allowed his thumbs to skim down her cheeks. ‘You don’t have to say any more.’

Dio, but I love this woman so much.

‘If you want to do this thing,’ he added, ‘I would never stand in your way.’

‘Really?’ She smiled. ‘Because I thought… When you walked out with Issy like that, I thought you were upset about the idea. That you were going to object to it.’

He shook his head. He wasn’t the only one with insecurities. Why did he find that so comforting all of a sudden?

‘I could never refuse something so important to you,’ he said, but then he smiled, enjoying the role of devil’s advocate. ‘But if I did, what would you do?’

The quick, seductive smile captivated him as she reached up to cradle his cheeks. ‘Then I guess I would have to convince you,’ she whispered against his lips.

She set her mouth on his. The heat surged at the seductive licks of her tongue.

He chuckled, the sound deep and so full of contentment. A contentment he’d never believed could be his. Her delighted answering smile made his heart thunder in his chest.

They would be okay. This job would be okay. He had to let her have her freedom despite his fears. And Megan need never know that he would hire one of Jared’s security team to watch over her while she was in Brooklyn.

And if she did find out, they could always negotiate. Because if there was one thing his wife was an expert at, it was negotiation.

Scooping her up, he sat her in his lap, held her firmly when she wriggled, inflaming his desires still more.

‘So you think you can convince me?’ He cupped her breast, licking at the rigid tip through the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Arousal surged into his groin when she arched into his mouth, responding with enthusiasm to the erotic torture as always. ‘Perhaps I will convince you first?’ he teased.

She grasped his head and pulled his mouth up to hers. The kiss was long and deep before she drew back.

‘You’re on, big boy,’ she said, clearly relishing the erotic challenge—even though she had to know she’d already won.

His loyalty, his trust and every single piece of his heart.

Secret Heirs: Royal Appointment

A Night of Royal Consequences

Susan Stephens

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal

Carol Marinelli

The Sultan Demands His Heir

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Night of Royal Consequences

Susan Stephens

Claiming his one-night baby

Callie Smith gave up everything to care for her alcoholic father. After his death, she’s finally able to follow her own dreams. And what better way to celebrate than by spending an out-of-character—but outrageously sinful—night with gorgeous Italian prince Luca Fabrizio?

To preserve his family dynasty, Luca was planning to marry a convenient bride—until Callie reveals the consequences of their heated encounter! Having just taken back her freedom, Callie refuses to wear his ring. To legitimize his heir, Luca must persuade her that life in his royal bed will be more pleasurable than she can possibly imagine!

For my most excellent editor Megan,

who is a joy to work with.

CHAPTER ONE

AS FUNERALS WENT, this was as grand as it got. As tradition demanded Luca, who was now the ruling Prince, arrived last, to take his place of honour in the packed cathedral. He was seated in front of the altar beneath a cupola with images painted by Michelangelo. Towering bronze doors to one side were so stunningly crafted they were known as the ‘gateway to paradise’. Tense with grief, Luca was aware of nothing but concern that he’d pulled out all the stops for a man to whom he owed everything. Flags were flown at half-mast across the principality of Fabrizio. Loyal subjects lined the streets. Flowers had been imported from France. The musicians were from Rome. A procession of priceless horse-drawn carriages drew dignitaries from across the world to the cathedral. Luca’s black stallion, Force, drew his father’s flag-draped coffin on a gun carriage with the Prince’s empty boots reversed in the stirrups. It was a poignant sight, but the proud horse held his head high, as if he knew his precious cargo was a great man on his final journey.

As the new ruler of the small, but fabulously wealthy principality of Fabrizio, Luca, the man the scandal sheets still liked to call ‘the boy from the gutters of Rome’, was shown the greatest respect. He’d moved a long way from those gutters. Innate business acumen had made him a billionaire, while the man he was burying today had made him a prince. This magnificent setting was a long way from the graffiti-daubed alleyways of Luca’s childhood where the stench of rotting rubbish would easily eclipse the perfume of flowers and incense surrounding him today. The peeling plaster and flyposting of those narrow alleyways replaced by exquisite gothic architecture, the finest sculpture, and stained glass. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined becoming a prince. As a boy, it had been enough to have scraps he stole from bins to fill his belly and rags to cover his back.

He inclined his head graciously as yet another European princess in need of a husband acknowledged him with an enticing smile. Fortunately, he’d retained the street smarts that warned him of advantage-takers. He wouldn’t be chaining himself down to a simpering aristo any time soon. Though he could do nothing about the testosterone running through his veins, Luca conceded wryly. Even freshly shaved and wearing dress uniform, he looked like a swarthy brawler from the docks. His appearance had been one thing his adoptive father, the late Prince, had been unable to refine.

Well over six feet tall and deeply tanned, with a honed, warrior’s frame, Luca couldn’t be sure of his parentage. His mother had been a Roman working girl. His father, he guessed, was the man who used to pester her for money. The late Prince was the only parent he remembered clearly. He owed the Prince his education. He owed him everything.

They’d met in the unlikely setting of the Coliseum, where the Prince had been on an official visit, and Luca had been stealing from the bins. He had not expected to come to the notice of such a grand man, but the Prince had been shrewd and had missed nothing. The next day he had sent an aide de camp with an offer for Luca to try living at the palace with the Prince’s son, Max. They would be company for each other, the Prince had insisted, and Luca would be free to go if he didn’t like his life there.

Young and street smart, Luca had had the sense to be wary, but he’d been hungry, and filling his belly had been worth taking a chance. That chance had led to this, which was why honouring the Prince was so important to him. He held his adoptive father in the highest esteem, for teaching him everything about building a life, rather than falling victim to it. But the Prince had left one final warning on his deathbed. ‘Max is weak. You will follow me onto the throne as my heir. You must marry and preserve my legacy to the country I believe we both love.’

Clasping his father’s frail hand in his, Luca had given his word. If he could have willed his strength into a man he loved unreservedly, he would have done that too. He would have done anything to save the life of the man who’d saved him.

As if reading Luca’s thoughts, his adoptive brother Maximus glared at him now from across the aisle. There was no love lost between the two men. Their father had failed to form any sort of relationship with Max, and Luca had failed too. Max preferred womanising and gambling to statecraft. He’d never shown any interest in family at all. He favoured the hangers-on who flocked around him, lavishing praise on Max in hope of his favour. Luca had soon learned that, while the Prince was his greatest supporter, Max would always be his greatest enemy.

Picking up the order of service to distract himself from Max’s baleful glare, Luca scanned his father’s long list of accomplishments and titles with great sadness. There would never be such a man again, a thought that made him doubly determined to fulfil his pledge to the letter. ‘You are a born leader,’ his father had told him, ‘and so I name you my heir.’ No wonder Max hated him.

Luca hadn’t looked for the honour of being heir to the throne of Fabrizio. He didn’t need the money. He could run the country out of pocket change. Success had come when he’d nagged his father to let him bring Fabrizio up to date, and had insisted on studying tech at university. He’d gone on to become one of the most successful men in the industry. His global holdings were so vast his company almost ran itself. This was just as well as he had to turn his thoughts to ruling a country, and to filling the empty space beside him.

‘If you fail to do this within two years,’ his father had said on his deathbed, ‘our constitution states that the throne will pass by default to your brother.’ They both knew what that meant. Max would ruin Fabrizio. ‘This is your destiny, Luca,’ his father had added. ‘You cannot refuse the request of a dying man.’

Luca had no intention of doing so, but the thought of marrying a simpering princess held no appeal. The royal marriage mart, as he thought of it, didn’t come close to his love of being with his people. He would leave here and travel to his lemon groves in southern Italy, where he worked alongside the other holiday workers. There was no better way for him to learn what concerns they had, and to do something to help. The thought of being shackled to a fragile china doll appalled him. He wanted a real woman with grit and fire inside her belly.

‘There are good women out there, Luca,’ his father, the Prince, had insisted. ‘It’s up to you to find one. Pick someone strong. Search for the unusual. Step off the well-trodden path.’

At the time Luca had thought this wouldn’t be easy. Looking around today, he thought it impossible.

As funerals went, this one was small, but respectable. Callie had made sure of it. It was small in as much as the only people to mourn her father’s passing, other than herself, were their next-door neighbours, the rumbustious Browns. It was a respectable and quiet affair, because Callie had always felt she should counterbalance her father’s crude and reckless life. There couldn’t be two of them wondering where their next meal was coming from. If it hadn’t been for her friends, the Browns, laughing with her at whatever life threw up, and reminding her to have fun while she could without offending other people, as her father so often had, she’d have been tearing her hair out by now.

The Brown tribe was on its best behaviour today—if she didn’t count their five dogs piling out of their camper van to career around the country cemetery barking wildly, but they’d given Callie a glimpse of what a happy family life could be, and, in her heart of hearts, love and a happy family was what she aspired to.

‘Goodbye, Dad,’ she whispered, regretting everything they’d never been to each other as she tossed a handful of moist, cool soil on top of the coffin.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ Ma said, putting her capable arm around Callie’s shoulders. ‘The worst part is over. Your life is about to begin. It’s a book of blank pages. You can write anything on it. Close your eyes and think where you’d like to be. That’s what always makes me happy. Isn’t it, our Rosie?’

Rosie Brown, Callie’s best friend and the Browns’ oldest child, came to link arms with Callie on her other side. ‘That’s right, Ma. The world’s your oyster, Callie. You can do anything you want. And sometimes,’ Rosie added, ‘you have to listen to the advice of people you trust, and let them help you.’

‘Anywhere ten pounds will take me?’ Callie suggested, finding a grin.

Rosie sighed. ‘Anywhere has to be better than staying round the docks—sorry, Ma, I know you love it here, but you know what I’m getting at. Callie needs a change.’

By the time they’d all crammed into the van, Callie was feeling better. Being with the Browns was like taking a big dose of optimism, and, after the lifetime of verbal and physical abuse she’d endured keeping house for her father, she was ready for it. She was free. For the first time in her life she was free. There was only one question now: how was she going to use that freedom?

‘Don’t even think about work,’ Ma Brown advised as she swivelled around in the front seat to speak to Callie. ‘Our Rosie can take over your shift at the pub for now.’

‘Willingly,’ Rosie agreed, giving Callie’s arm a squeeze. ‘What you need is a holiday.’

‘It would have to be a working holiday,’ Callie said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t have enough money to go away.’ Her father had left nothing. The house they’d lived in was rented. He’d been both a violent drunk and a gambler. Callie’s job as a cleaner at the pub just about paid enough to put food on the table, and then only if she didn’t leave the money lying around for him to spend at the bookies.

‘Think about what you’d like to do,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘It’s your turn now, our Callie.’

She liked studying. She wanted to better herself. She aspired to do more than clean up the pub. Her dream was to work in the open, with fresh air to breathe, and the sun on her face.

‘You never know,’ Ma added, shuffling around in her seat again. ‘When we clear out the house tomorrow your father might have left a wad of winnings in his clothes by mistake.’

Callie smiled wryly. She knew they’d be lucky to find a few coppers. Her father never had any money. They wouldn’t have survived at all without the Browns’ bounty. Pa Brown had an allotment where he grew most of their vegetables himself, and he always gave some to Callie.

‘Don’t forget you can stay with us as long as you need to, until you get yourself sorted out,’ Ma Brown called out from the passenger seat.

‘Thank you, Ma.’ Leaning forward, Callie gave Ma’s cheek a fond kiss. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘You’d do more than all right,’ Ma Brown insisted firmly. ‘You’ve always been capable, and now you’re free to fly as high as your mother always intended. She used to dream about her baby and what that baby would do. It’s a tragic shame that she didn’t live to see you grow up.’

She’d soon find out what she could and couldn’t do, Callie thought as the Browns and their dogs piled out of the steamed-up van. She couldn’t stick around for long. She’d be a burden to the Browns. They had enough to do keeping their own heads above water. Once her father’s debts were paid, she’d go exploring. Maybe Blackpool. The air was bracing there. Blackpool was a traditional northern English seaside town with bags of personality, and plenty of boarding houses looking for cleaning staff. She’d research jobs there the first spare minute she got.

It would have been a grim task sorting through her father’s things the next morning, if it hadn’t been for the cheerful Browns. Ma checked every room, while Callie and Rosie sorted everything into piles for the charity shops, things that could possibly be sold, and those that were definitely going to the dump. The sale pile was disappointingly small. ‘I never realised how much rubbish we had before,’ Callie admitted.

‘Mean old bugger,’ Ma Brown commented. ‘He probably took it with him,’ she added with a sniff.

‘I doubt there was anything to find in the first place,’ Callie placated. She knew her father’s ways only too well when it came to money.

‘Nothing left after he’d been gambling and boozing, I expect,’ Ma Brown agreed, disapprovingly pursing her lips.

‘Well, that’s where you’re both wrong,’ Rosie exclaimed with triumph as she flourished a five-pound note. ‘Look what I’ve found!’

‘Well, our Callie!’ Ma Brown began to laugh as Rosie handed it over to her friend. ‘Riches indeed. What are you going to do with it?’

‘Nothing sensible, I hope,’ Rosie insisted as Callie stared at the grubby banknote in amazement. ‘It’s not even enough to buy a drink, let alone a decent meal.’

She would rather have her father back either way, Callie thought, which was strange after all the years of trying to win his love, and coming to accept that there was no love in him. ‘I’ll put it in the charity tin at the corner shop,’ she mused out loud.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘I’m taking charge of this,’ she said as she snatched the banknote out of Callie’s hand.

‘Think of it as an early Christmas present from your father,’ Rosie soothed when she saw Callie’s distress. ‘Ma will do something sensible with it.’

‘It would be the first gift he’d ever given her,’ Ma Brown grumbled. ‘And as for doing something sensible with it?’ She winked. ‘I’ve got other ideas.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Callie said with a weak smile, hoping the subject would go away now.

Knowing her friend was upset beneath her humour, Rosie quickly changed the subject and it wasn’t spoken of again. The next Callie heard of their surprise find was at supper with the Browns. When the girls had finished clearing up, Ma Brown folded her arms and beamed, a sure sign of an announcement.

‘Now then, our Callie, before you say anything, we know you don’t gamble and we know why you don’t gamble, but just this once you’re going to take something from me, and say thank you and nothing else.’

Callie tensed when she saw the five-pound scratch card Ma Brown was holding out.

‘You’ll need something to scratch the card,’ Pa observed matter-of-factly as he dug in his pocket for some loose change.

‘Close your eyes and imagine where all that money’s going to take you,’ Rosie urged, glancing at the other Browns to will them to persuade Callie that this could be a good thing if she got lucky.

‘All what money?’ Callie had to smile when the Browns fell silent. Silence was such a rare occurrence in this household, she couldn’t let them down.

‘It’s time for a change of luck,’ Rosie pressed. ‘What have you got to lose?’

The Browns had been nothing but kind. The money she’d get from the scratch card would likely take her as far as the hearth to toss it in the fire when it proved a dud. ‘Close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere I’ve always dreamed of…’

‘Open your eyes and scratch the bloody card,’ Ma Brown insisted.

As everyone burst out laughing Callie sat down at the table and started scratching the surface of the card.

‘Well?’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Don’t tease us. Tell us what you’ve got.’

‘Five. Thousand. Pounds.’

No one said a word. Seconds ticked by. ‘What did you say?’ Rosie prompted.

‘I’ve won five thousand pounds.’

The Browns exploded with excitement, and the next few hours were spent in a fury of mad ideas. Opening a pie and peas shop next to the pub, a sandwich bar to serve the local business park. ‘I want to give my money to you,’ Callie insisted.

‘Not a chance.’ Ma Brown crossed her capable arms across her capacious chest, and that was the end of it.

Callie made up her mind to put some of it aside for them, anyway.

‘You could buy all the rescue dogs in the world,’ one young Brown called Tom said optimistically.

‘Or a second-hand car,’ another boy exclaimed.

‘Why don’t you spend it all on clothes?’ one of the girls proposed. ‘You’ll never get another chance to fill your wardrobe.’

What wardrobe? Callie thought. Her worldly possessions were contained in a zip-up bag, but she smiled and went along with this idea and they all had some fun with it for a while.

‘It isn’t a fortune and our Callie should do something that makes her happy,’ Pa Brown said. ‘It should be something she’s always dreamed of, that she will remember for ever. She’s had little enough fun in her life up to now, and this is her chance.’

The room went quiet. No one had heard Pa Brown give such a long speech before. Ma Brown always spoke for him, if the dogs and his brood weren’t drowning him out.

‘Well, our Callie,’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Have you got any thoughts on the subject?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Callie said, surprising herself as she thought of it.

‘Not Blackpool,’ Rosie said, rolling her eyes. ‘We can go there any weekend we like.’

‘Well?’ the Browns chorused, craning forward.

Reaching for the television guide, Callie opened it out flat on the table. There was a double-page spread, a travel feature, showing vibrant green lemon groves hung heavily with yellow fruit. A young family of husband, wife and two children capered across the grass, staring out towards unimaginable adventures. The headline read: Visit Italy.

‘Why not?’ Callie said as all the Browns fell silent. ‘I can dream, can’t I?’

‘You can more than dream now,’ Ma Brown pointed out with her usual common sense.

But by this time, Callie was already putting her dream on the back burner in favour of a far more realistic plan. Perhaps a weekend in a small coastal resort nearby. She could look for a job while she was there.

‘Think big. Think Italy,’ Rosie insisted.

‘That would be a proper memory, all right,’ Pa Brown agreed.

Callie stared out of the window at a grey, dismal scene. Like the rented house where she’d grown up, the Browns’ opened out onto the street, but the people passing by outside had their shoulders hunched against the cold. The photo in the magazine promised something very different. Rather than traffic fumes and bed socks, there’d be sunshine and fruit trees. She glanced at the page again. It was like a window opening onto another world. The colours were extraordinary. The people in the shot might be models, but they surely couldn’t fake that happiness, or the sense of freedom on their faces.

‘Italy,’ Ma Brown commented, her lips pressing down as she thought about it. ‘You’ll need some new clothes for that. Don’t look so worried, our Callie. You won’t need to spend much. You can do very well on the high street.’

Rosie clearly had other ideas and frowned at her mother. ‘This is Callie’s chance to have something special,’ she whispered.

‘And she should,’ Pa Brown agreed, picking up on this. ‘Goodness knows, she’s gone without long enough.’

‘A mix, then,’ Ma Brown conceded. ‘High Street with designer flourishes.’ And with that healing remark the family was content.

‘Amalfi,’ Callie breathed as copying the idea in the magazine took shape in her mind. The thought of a short trip to Italy made her head reel with excitement. A change of scene was what she needed before she started the next phase of her life, and the win had made it possible.

‘All that wonderful sunshine and delicious food, not to mention the music,’ Rosie commented with her hand on her heart as she thought about it.

All that romance and the Italian men, Callie’s inner devil whispered seductively. She blanked out the voice. She had always been cautious when it came to romance. She’d had too many duties at home to be frivolous, and too many opportunities to witness first-hand how violent men could be.

‘Come on, our Callie. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Ma Brown demanded as all the Browns murmured encouragement.

She was free to do as she liked, so why not don a glamorous dress and designer heels for once? A few days of being not Callie was more than tempting, it was a possibility now. Just this once, the good girl could unleash her fun side—if she could still find it.

CHAPTER TWO

HE NOTICED THE woman sitting at the bar right away. Even from behind she was attractive. It was something in the way she held herself, and her relaxed manner with his friend, Marco, the barman. He’d just ended a call with Max, and was in the worst of moods. Max had lost no time in Luca’s absence causing unrest in Fabrizio. Max had been a thorn in his side since they were boys. Thanks to his mischief, Luca should not be visiting his beautiful lemon groves on the Amalfi coast, but should return immediately to Fabrizio, but this was an annual pilgrimage to a place he loved amidst people he cared for, and nothing, not even Max, could distract him from that. Though on this occasion, he could only spare a couple of nights here.

The woman was a distraction. She was watching everyone come in through the mirrors behind the bar. Was she waiting for a lover? He felt a stab of jealousy and wondered why he cared when she could just as easily be waiting for a family member, or for a friend.

He’d dropped by the hotel to invite Marco to the annual celebrations at the start of the lemon-picking season. He and Marco had grown up together, as Marco’s father had worked for the late Prince. Standing at the end of the bar where he could talk discreetly to Marco when he was free, he saw the woman clearly for the first time. She was confident and perky, and obviously enjoying the chance to trial the Italian language. Laughter lit her face when she got something wrong and Marco corrected her.

Feeling mildly irritated by their obvious rapport, he returned to working her out. Her profile was exquisite, though she seemed unaware of this, just as she seemed unaware of the appeal of her slight, though voluptuous body. She was understated, unlike his usual, sophisticated type. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. Dressed impeccably, though plainly for this setting in one of the coast’s most famous hotels, as if she was playing a role, she was almost too perfect. Her red hair was lush and shiny, cut short for practicality, rather than fashion, he guessed. Her eyes were green and up-tilted, giving her a faintly exotic look. A light tan and freckles suggested she’d been here no more than a week and lived somewhere cooler.

This was a lot of thought to expend on a woman who seemed unaware of his interest. Or was she? His groin tightened when she turned to stare at him boldly and was in no hurry to look away.

Interesting.

‘Good evening.’ After politely acknowledging the woman, he gave Marco a look that left his friend in no doubt that Luca wished to remain incognito.

Sensing mischief afoot, Marco grinned. They exchanged the usual complicated handshake, while the woman looked on with interest. She was even more beautiful than he’d first thought. Her scent was intoxicating. Wildflowers. How appropriate, he thought as Marco left them to go and serve another customer. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

She levelled a stare on his face. ‘Do I know you?’

The bluntness of her question took him by surprise, as did her forthright tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco lift a brow. His friend would call security if Luca gave the word, and the woman would be politely moved on. An almost imperceptible shake of Luca’s head knocked that idea out of court.

‘My name is Luca,’ he told her as he extended his hand in greeting.

She ignored his hand. Intelligent eyes, framed by long black eyelashes, viewed him with suspicion.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he pressed, waiting for her to volunteer her name. ‘I don’t bite,’ he added when she continued to withhold her hand.

‘But you’re very persistent,’ she said, making it clear there would be no physical contact between them.

Persistent? Outwardly, he remained deadpan. Inwardly, he cracked up. Women referred to his charm and thought him attentive. Clearly, this woman had other ideas. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘Fizzy water, please,’ she replied.

Turning to Marco, he murmured, ‘Aqua frizzante per la signorina, e lo stesso per me, per favore.’

‘Sì, signor,’ Marco replied, serving up two sparkling waters.

Her gaze remained steady on his as she took her first sip. There wasn’t a hint of simpering or recognition in her eyes, just that desirable mouth smiling faintly. Even now she’d had time to think about it, he was a man in a bar and that was it. She had no idea who he was, and would trust him as far as a glass of water was concerned, but no further. If she was unaware that his face had been plastered all over the news lately, since he’d ascended the throne of Fabrizio, something big must have happened in her life.

So, beautiful mystery woman, he mused as she returned his interest coolly, who are you, and what are you doing in Amalfi?

Straightening the short silk skirt on her designer dress, Callie wished she had worn the Capri pants Rosie had insisted were essential to Callie’s Italian adventure instead. So chic, Rosie had said as Callie had turned full circle, wishing she could get away with a new pair of jeans and a top. The Capris were still in the wardrobe upstairs in the hotel, as she’d been unsure which shoes to wear with them.

At least Capris would have been decent. The dress was anything but. Far too short, it was enticing. She could only imagine what this incredible-looking man had thought when he’d first seen her perched at the bar. How could she convey the fact that she wasn’t here for that type of business, and that this was, in fact, a holiday? The thought of an Italian adventure had excited her, but she hadn’t envisaged such a dynamite opening scene. She fell well short compared to the other, more sophisticated women in the bar. There was barely enough fabric in her skirt to cover her fundamentals. She couldn’t move for fear of it riding up, and with her naked thigh so close to the man’s denim-clad muscles, that was a pressing concern.

‘You didn’t tell me your name.’

She turned to look at him as the dark velvet voice, with its seductive hint of an Italian accent, rolled over her. Strange how sound could send shivers spinning up and down her spine. Her chin felt as if it had half a universe to travel, as she moved from scrutinising his muscular thighs, to staring into a pair of mesmerising black eyes. Mesmerising and amused, she noticed now. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the area below his belt. Her cheeks burned as she volunteered with a direct stare into his eyes, ‘My name is Callista.’

His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, drawing her attention to the fact that his mouth was almost as expressive and beautiful as his eyes. ‘Greek for most beautiful,’ he remarked. ‘That explains everything.’

‘Really?’ She did her best to simper and then hardened her tone. ‘I’ve heard of people being born with silver spoons in their mouths, but yours must have been coated in sugar.’

He laughed, and then affected a wounded expression. ‘I’m crushed,’ he exclaimed, holding both hands to his powerful chest.

‘No, you’re not,’ she insisted good-humouredly, starting to like him more now he’d proved to have a sense of humour. ‘You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.’

He smiled. ‘So what is Callista the huntress doing on her own in a hotel bar?’

‘Not what you think,’ she flashed back.

‘What I think?’ he queried.

‘What are you doing on your own in the bar?’ she countered.

He laughed again, a blinding flash of strong white teeth against his impressive tan. ‘I’m here to see the barman. What’s your excuse?’

‘A holiday.’ She levelled a stare on his face. ‘What do you do for a living?’

The bluntness of her question seemed to take him by surprise, but he soon recovered. ‘This and that.’

‘This and that, what?’ she pressed.

‘I guess you could call me a representative.’

‘What do you sell?’

‘I promote a country’s interests, its culture, industry and people.’

‘Ah, so you’re in the tourism business,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s nice.’ And when he nodded, she asked, ‘Which country do you represent?’

‘Are you staying here long?’ he asked, changing the subject.

The fact he’d ignored her question didn’t escape her notice and she gave him a suspicious look. Then, obviously deciding it couldn’t do any harm to tell him a little more, she added, ‘Not long enough.’

She was enjoying the man’s company and decided to prolong the exchange. He excited her. It was no use pretending when every nerve ending she possessed was responding with enthusiasm to the wicked expression in his laughing black eyes. She’d never flirted before, and was surprised to find she rather liked it. This man could turn her insides warm and needy with a look.

‘Have you been dancing yet?’ he enquired, shooting her an interested look.

‘Is that an invitation?’

‘Do you want it to be?’

‘No, sadly.’ She gave him a crooked smile. ‘These shoes are killing me.’ Twirling a foot, she stared ruefully at the delicate designer shoes with their stratospheric spiky heels. Could anyone walk in them?

‘You could always slip them off and dance,’ he suggested.

As he spoke a band struck up for the evening’s entertainment somewhere outside on the terrace. Imagine dancing beneath a canopy of stars, she thought. How romantic. She glanced at her companion, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He really did have the wickedest black eyes, which, for some reason, made her think of slowly stripping off her clothes while he watched. She shivered inwardly at the thought. What she should be doing was making it clear that she didn’t pick up men in bars. She should collect up her things, get down from the stool and walk away. It was that easy.

Sex with him would be fun. And seriously good.

What was wrong with her? This wasn’t the type of simmering heat she’d read about in novels and magazines, but hot, feral lust, that promised very adult pleasures indeed.

‘You are extremely entertaining, signorina.’

‘Really?’ Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be. He certainly was. Sensuality emanated from him. If she embarked on her Italian adventure with Luca, it could only lead to one place. Fantastic! Callie’s inner harlot rejoiced, so now the thought of lying close to him, skin to skin, with those strong, lean hands controlling her pleasure—

‘Signorina?’

‘Yes?’ She blinked and refocused on his eyes…his disturbingly experienced eyes. However attractive and compelling she found him, she had to be careful not to take these newfound flirting skills too far. So the adventure of a lifetime is over before it begins? The adventure of a lifetime was great in theory, but in practice it threatened all sorts of unknown pleasures—dangers, Callie corrected her inner demon firmly. She had more sense than to let things go too far. Concentrating fiercely on her glass of water, she tried not to notice Luca’s brutal masculinity as it warred with her inner prude. She gave up in the end. He’d won this point. He was far better at flirting than she was.

What else was he good at?

Stop that now! Didn’t she have enough to contend with—a crotch-skimming skirt, and heels custom-made to prevent a stylish exit—without going head to head with a sex god in jeans?

‘Another aqua frizzante, signorina?’

How did Luca make that simple question sound so risqué? ‘Yes, please.’

Oh, so her sensible self was on holiday too?

She wanted to know more about him. What was wrong with that? Chances like this didn’t come around every day. So shoot me if I’m easy. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. And, anyway, why should she be the one to go?

Marco quickly refilled her glass and Luca handed it to her. She sucked in a sharp breath as their fingers touched. He was like an incendiary device to her senses. Using the mirror behind the bar, she surveyed the other men in the room to see if any compared. No, was the simple answer. They were all without exception safe-looking guys, dressed neatly in business suits. There was no one else slouched on one hip, wearing extremely well-packed jeans and a crisp white shirt open a few buttons at the neck to reveal a shading of dark hair. She jumped guiltily when she realised that Luca was staring back at her through the mirror.

‘Taking everything in?’ he suggested with that same wicked look.

He couldn’t be interested in her. It didn’t make any sense with so many attractive women in the bar. Had he heard she’d won some money? He might be a particularly good-looking con man on the make, though he didn’t seem in need of cash and Marco the barman seemed to know him. Having survived her father, she had no intention of falling for a good-looking man simply because he was charming.

Falling for him?

‘You’re frowning, signorina,’ Luca murmured in a way that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. ‘I hope I’m not the cause of your concern?’

‘Not at all,’ she said briskly as his direct stare sped straight to her core where it caused havoc all over again. On any level Luca was concerning. Lacking airs and graces, with his rugged good looks he could easily be a roustabout from the docks. Equally he could be a practised seducer. And now was not the time for her body to shout hallelujah! Instead, she should be thanking him for the drink and walking away. ‘Would you like a nut?’ she asked instead. Luca grinned and raised a brow in a way that thrilled her. ‘Before I eat them all,’ she added in a tone that told him not to tease as she pushed the bowl towards him.

‘It would be easier and far tastier to come out to supper with me,’ he said, angling his chin to stare her in the eyes.

Not a chance. That would be courting danger.

‘Supper?’ Luca pressed. ‘Or more nuts?’

She glanced with embarrassment at the almost empty dish—and gasped with shock when Luca took hold of her hand. She had never felt such a shock at a physical connection with another human being. The disappointment when she realised he’d only taken hold of her hand to steady it as he poured the last few nuts from the dish onto her palm was humiliating.

‘Enjoy your supper, signorina,’ he said, straightening up.

‘You’re going?’

‘Will you miss me?’

‘Only if I run out of nuts.’

He huffed a laugh that made her heart race like crazy. ‘You could come with me.’

She could singe her wings and crash back down to earth too. ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled, a little wistfully, maybe, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Luca was like a magnet drawing her into danger with those dark laughing eyes. She was enjoying this newfound flirting skill far too much. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your supper.’

‘I choose to be here.’

The way he spoke made breath hitch in her throat. The way he looked at her made everything inside her go crazy. It was everything about him, the Italian accent, his deep, husky voice, and his ridiculous good looks, and perhaps most of all the mesmerising stillness of his magnificent body. She was hypnotised—and determinedly shook herself round.

‘Signorina?’

He was waiting for her decision.

‘Enjoy your supper.’ She wanted to go with him. She wanted to be a bad girl for once in her life. Bad girls had more fun. But then she would have to live with regret. How could she not? She would regret sleeping with him and not knowing him better. She would regret not sleeping with him, and never having the chance again.

‘Enjoy your nuts—’

She couldn’t believe it when he walked away. Oh, well, that was that, then. Everything went flat when he walked out of the door, and he didn’t look back. He hadn’t suggested they meet again, and he hadn’t asked for her number. She’d probably done herself a favour, Callie reassured herself. He’d expect too much, more than she was prepared to give, anyway.

Saying goodnight to Marco, she got down from the barstool. She felt impatient with herself as she walked away. She couldn’t miss a man she didn’t know. She’d feel better once she was back in her room. She might have dressed up tonight, as per Rosie and Ma Brown’s instructions, but she was still Callie from the docks inside. But not for long, Callie decided when she reached her room. She couldn’t hang around the hotel aimlessly; she had to do something—get out, see more of the real Italy. This trip was supposed to be an adventure. She wasn’t tied to the past, or frightened of the future. Roll on tomorrow, she thought as she climbed into bed, and whatever it might hold.

As soon as he got back to the palazzo he called Marco. ‘Who is that woman?’

‘Signorina Callista Smith? Staying at the hotel on her own, if that’s what you’re asking, my friend.’

‘Am I so obvious?’

Marco barked a laugh down the phone. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you know anything else about her?’

‘Only that she comes from the north of England and that her father died recently, so this is a rebooting exercise for Callie. That’s how she described it while we were chatting. And that’s all I know about her.’

‘Okay. It explains a lot, though I’d guessed some of it.’

‘And?’ Marco prompted.

‘And it’s none of your business,’ Luca told his old friend. ‘See you on the estate for the celebrations tomorrow night?’

‘The start of the lemon-picking season,’ Marco confirmed. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but can you spare the time? I thought Max was kicking off in Fabrizio.’

‘I have controls in place to keep Max on a leash.’

‘Financial controls?’ Marco guessed.

‘Correct,’ Luca said calmly. Max’s allowance was generous under their father’s rule, and was even more so now that Luca had the means to increase it. Max had never liked to work and with no other source of income he looked to Luca to support him.

‘And before you ask,’ Marco added, ‘Signorina Smith is booked into the hotel for another few days.’

‘You’ve been checking up on her?’

Marco laughed. ‘You sound suspicious. Do you care?’

He was surprised to discover that he did. ‘Back off, Marco.’

‘That sounds like a warning.’

‘And maybe I’ve discovered a conscience,’ Luca suggested. ‘She’s innocent and she’s alone, and you are neither of those things.’

‘You feel responsible for her already?’ Marco commented knowingly. ‘This sounds serious.’

‘I’m a caring citizen,’ Luca remarked dryly.

‘I’ll do as you say,’ Marco offered with his customary good humour. ‘And I’ll watch with interest to see how long your concern for Signorina Smith’s innocence lasts.’

He told Marco what he could do with his interest in Callista Smith in no uncertain terms, reminded him about the celebrations, and then cut the line.

What was he doing? He was a driven man with a country to care for, and a practically out-of-control brother to deal with. And he had to find a bride to provide an heir and continue the dynasty. He shouldn’t be wasting time on contemplating an affair—wouldn’t be, if he hadn’t found Signorina Smith so appealing. He had to remind himself that she was an ingénue with her life ahead of her, and, yes, everything to learn. If they never saw each other again it would be better for both of them. She should learn about sex and the harsh realities of life from a man who could make time for her.

Just don’t let me run into that man, Luca reflected dryly as he sank into the custom-moulded seat of his favoured bright red sports car. He’d have to kill him. No! He had no time to waste on romancing a woman who might have intrigued him tonight, but who would surely bore him by tomorrow when she proved to be as shallow as the rest.

Gunning the engine, he drove into town with his head full of Callista Smith. He planned to eat at his favourite restaurant. She should have been with him. Top international chefs worked at the palazzo, but Signorina Smith had put him in the mood for more robust fare. Tomorrow he would work alongside his seasonal staff in the lemon groves. In lieu of more challenging distractions, for which he had to thank Signorina Smith for providing some very entertaining images to keep him awake tonight, he’d fuel up on good food instead.

‘Hey, Luca… Alone tonight?’ The restaurant owner, who’d known Luca since he was a suspicious child tagging along behind his newly adoptive father, rushed out of the kitchen to give him a warm hug.

‘Unfortunately yes. But don’t worry. I can eat enough for two.’

‘You always had a huge appetite,’ the elderly owner approved.

True, Luca mused dryly as he ran his experienced eye over the women seated at the tables. They all stared at him with invitation in their eyes, but not one of them had the power to hold his interest. Not like Callista Smith.

She was surely the most ungrateful person in the world, Callie concluded as she woke to yet another day of sublime Italian sunshine. And frowned. She was staying in the most beautiful place imaginable in the most fabulous hotel, and yet still she felt as if something was missing. But how could that be, when she was nestled up in crisp white sheets, scented with lavender and sunshine, wearing the ice-blue, pure cotton nightdress trimmed with snowy white lace that Ma Brown had said Callie must have for her trip of a lifetime.

If money can’t make me happy, what can I do next?

Well, she’d spent most of the money on staying at this hotel, so she wouldn’t have to worry about her win on the scratch card and what it felt like to have some extra cash at her disposal for too much longer, Callie concluded with her usual optimism. Leaping out of bed, she threw the windows open and the view snatched the breath from her lungs. Steep white cliffs dropped down to pewter beaches where the shoreline was fringed by the brightest blue water she’d ever seen. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Flowers and freshly baked bread, overlaid by the faint tang of ozone, prompted her to take a second breath, just so she could appreciate the first.

What was so terrible about this?

She was lonely, Callie concluded. She missed the Browns. She missed her colleagues at work. Maybe it hadn’t been much fun at home with her father being drunk most of the time, but the Browns more than made up for it, and even caring for her father had taken on a regular and predictable pattern. She still felt sad when she thought about him and his wasted life. He could have made so much more of himself with his natural charm and undeniable good looks, but instead had chosen to gamble and drink his life away, putting his trust in unreliable friends, rather than in his daughter Callie, or the Browns.

It was no use dwelling on it. She was determined to make a go of the rest of her life, which meant that decisions had to be made. She wasn’t going to sit around in the hotel doing nothing for the rest of her stay. Nor was she going to monopolise Marco and risk bumping into the man with the devastating smile again. Luca was out of her league, the stuff of fairy tales. She had wracked her brains to try to find a film star or a celebrity who could eclipse him and had come up short. There was no one. It wasn’t just that Luca was better looking, or had presence to spare, but the fact that he was so down to earth and made her laugh. And thrill. She liked him so much it frightened her, because that wasn’t normal, surely? You couldn’t just meet a man in a bar and never stop thinking about him…imagining his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers…body pressed to hers… That was ridiculous! She was being ridiculous, Callie concluded, pulling away from the window to retreat into the airy room. She could fantasise about Luca all she liked—well, had done for most of the night, but she had enough sense to stay well away.

‘Room service…’

She turned and hurried across the room to answer the door. ‘Sorry I took so long. I slept in today.’

‘I can come back,’ the young maid offered.

‘No. Please,’ Callie exclaimed. ‘Your English is very good. Can I ask you something before you go?’

‘Of course. My name is Maria,’ the young woman supplied in answer to Callie’s enquiring look. ‘If I can help you, I will.’

Maria wasn’t much older than Callie. Her long dark hair was neatly drawn back, but her black eyes were mischievous, and she had the warmth of Italy about her that Callie was fast becoming used to. ‘If you wanted to work outside in the sunshine, Maria—we don’t get very much where I come from,’ Callie explained ruefully. ‘Where would you look for a job?’

‘Oh, that’s easy.’ Maria’s face brightened. ‘This is the start of the lemon-picking season when the demand for casual labour is at its highest. There’s a big estate belonging to the Prince just outside town. They’re always looking for temporary staff at this time of year.’

‘The Prince’s estate?’ Callie exclaimed. ‘That sounds grand.’

‘It’s very friendly,’ Maria assured her. ‘It must be for the same people to come back year after year.’

‘Do you think I could get a job there?’

‘Why not?’ Maria frowned. ‘But why would you want to work as a picker?’

Callie could see that it must seem odd for her to be staying at a five-star hotel, yet jumping at the chance to work in the fields. ‘I need a change,’ she admitted, ‘and I’d love to work in the open air.’

‘I can understand that,’ Maria agreed. ‘I’d go today if I were you, so you don’t miss the party.’

‘The party?’ Callie queried.

‘There’s always a party at the beginning of the season,’ Maria explained, ‘as well as at the end. Apart from exporting lemons around the world, they make the famous liquor Limoncello on the Prince’s estate, and his parties are always the best.’

‘Is the Prince very old?’

Maria snorted a laugh. ‘Old? He’s the hottest man around.’

Two of the best-looking men in one town seemed impossible, but as she wasn’t likely to bump into the Prince, and was determined to avoid Luca, her heart could slow down and take a rest. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this information,’ she told Maria.

‘If there’s anything else you need, anything at all, Signorina—’

‘Call me Callie. You never know when we’ll meet again,’ Callie added, thrilled at the prospect of having a real goal to aim for.

‘In the lemon groves, maybe,’ Maria suggested.

‘In the lemon groves,’ Callie agreed, feeling excited already at the thought of working in lemon groves that she’d only seen in a photograph before.

She was excited and couldn’t wait to embark on her new plan, Callie mused as she took her shower. She wouldn’t be Callie from the docks for much longer, she’d be Callie from the lemon groves, and that had a much better ring to it.

This was his favourite place in the world, Luca concluded as he swung a stack of crates onto the back of a truck. Hard, physical labour beneath a blazing sun, surrounded by people he loved, who couldn’t have cared less if he were a prince or a pauper. Max had been dealt with for now, and was cooling off after his drunken rampage in the local jail, Luca’s royal council had informed him. He should take this last chance to celebrate at the party tonight, his most trusted aide Michel had insisted. ‘I’ll come back right away, if you need me,’ he’d told Michel. Luca had never resented the shackles of royal duty. He felt humbled by them, and honoured that the late Prince had trusted him with the responsibility of caring for a country and its people. The only downside was picking a princess to sit at his side, when so far none of the candidates had appealed to him.

To lie at his side, to lie beneath him, to give him children.

He ground his jaw and thought about Callista. She could lie at his side and lie beneath him, though he doubted she’d remain calm or accepting for long. If he were any judge, she’d want to ride him as vigorously as he thought about riding her, with pleasurable thoroughness and for the longest possible time. Callista had more spirit in her little finger than all the available princesses put together possessed in their limp and unappealing bodies. But the fact remained: he had to choose a wife soon. His father’s elderly retainer, Michel, had point-blank refused to retire until Luca took a wife. ‘I promised your father I’d watch over you,’ Michel had said. ‘What this country needs is a young family to inject life and vitality into Fabrizio, to lead the country forward into the future.’

He’d sort it, Luca concluded. He always did. The buzz of interest surrounding him at his father’s funeral suggested suitable breeding stock wouldn’t be too hard to find. A very agreeable image of Callista chose that moment to flash into his mind. Callista naked. Giving as good as she got, verbally, as well as in every other way. She might be young and inexperienced, but her down-to-earth manner promised the type of robust pleasure that an insipid princess would be incapable of providing.

And how does this advance my hunt for a wife?

Loading the last crate of lemons, he groaned as he remembered Michel’s words: ‘Yours will be a bountiful reign with a harvest of children as abundant as the lemons on your estate,’ Michel had assured him. Right now it was Luca’s face that looked as if he’d sucked a lemon when he contemplated the current selection of brides.

Work over, he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and eased his shoulders, grimacing as he thought about the stack of neglected folders on his desk. Leafing through them had confirmed his worst fears. All the princesses were excellent contenders for the role of his wife, but not one of them excited him.

What would Callista be doing now? She’d better not be sitting at that bar. He’d drag her out, and—

Really? He grinned, imagining her reaction to that. There was nothing insipid about Callista. She wouldn’t fall into line, or be content to bask mindlessly in luxury while working dutifully on creating an heir and a spare. Even Michel would find Callista difficult to lure into the royal fold.

Grazie a Dio! The last thing he needed was a headstrong woman fighting him every step of the way!

But a bolt of pure lust crashed through him as he imagined her in his arms. Finding a suitable princess could wait a few days.

Callie stared up in wonder at the royal gates marking the boundary of the Prince’s estate. They were everything she’d expected and more. They were regal and imposing with gilt-tipped spears crowning their impressive height, while lions, teeth bared, grinned down at her. ‘Hello,’ she murmured, giving them a wink. The lions scowled back.

‘Very welcoming,’ she managed on a dry throat. Should she be using another entrance? Was there a back entrance? Well, it was too late now. She was here. And then she spotted a notice. It was only about twelve feet high. ‘Numbskull,’ she muttered. Turning in the direction indicated by the bright red arrow, she walked over to a disappointingly modern control box attached to the far side of the gate. Pressing the button, she jumped with surprise when a metallic voice barked, ‘Sollevare la testa, si prega.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Italian very well…’

‘Look up, please,’ the same metallic voice instructed.

She stared at the sky.

‘At the camera.’

Okay, numbskull squared, that small round lens just in front of me is a camera!

The metallic voice hadn’t shown any emotion, but Callie could imagine the person behind it rolling their eyes. Finally, she did as instructed.

‘The photograph is for security reasons,’ the metallic voice grated out. ‘If you don’t wish to enter the estate, please step back now.’

‘No—I do. I mean, yes. I’m here to apply for a job. I’m sorry if I should have used another entrance…’ Her mouth slammed shut as the massive gates swung open.

‘Report to the foreman in the first barn you come to.’

‘Yes, signor…um…signora?’ The sex of The Voice would remain a mystery for ever, Callie thought as she stepped into a very different world.

This was a world of control and order, Callie concluded, as well as extreme magnificence on every level. Awestruck, she stared down the length of an incredible avenue composed of a carpet of glistening, white marble beads. At the end of this lay a pink stone edifice, bleached almost white by the midday sun. Both elegant and enormous, the palazzo boasted turrets and towers that could have come straight from a book of fairy tales. Cinderella’s castle, she mused wryly. The driveway leading up to the palace was broad and long, with stately cypress trees lining the route like sentries. Butterflies darted amongst the colourful flowerbeds lining her way, and birds trilled a welcome as she walked along, but there was no sign of the barn The Voice had referred to.

‘Hey! Per di qua! This way!’

She turned at the sound of friendly voices to see more pickers following her into the palace grounds. They’d halted at what she could now see was the shrubbery-concealed entrance to a pathway.

Callie scolded herself as she hurried to join them. There was another sign, and it was a huge one, but she’d missed it completely, being too busy ogling her surroundings. The sign read, ‘Benvenuto ai nostro personale stagionale!’ Even she knew what that meant. ‘Welcome to our temporary staff!’

It was certainly a warmer greeting than the stained sheet of lined paper pinned up on the noticeboard outside the pub, which warned staff to use the back door not the front, on pain of immediate dismissal.

The pickers had waited for her and were all in high spirits. She blended right in with denim shorts and a loose cotton top, teamed with a pair of market-find trainers. She was ready and excited for whatever lay ahead. This was an adventure. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was something to tell the Browns.

It was good news to hear she could start right away and be paid in cash if she wanted. That suited Callie. She planned to check out of the posh hotel and move to a small bed and breakfast in town to extend her stay. She’d already called to confirm the B & B had rooms. She wanted to get to know the real Italy, and, with her father’s example behind her, she knew better than to fritter her money away. She’d tasted the high life, and was glad to have done so, but had come away feeling slightly let down. This was so much better, she concluded as she trooped out of the barn with the other pickers. There were no airs and graces here, and, more significantly, no need to wear those excruciatingly painful high-heeled shoes.

The Prince’s estate was like a small town. She hadn’t guessed how big it was from the road. There were dozens of gangs of pickers working throughout the spectacular lemon groves. This was heaven, Callie thought as she straightened up and paused for breath. Yes, the work was hard, but the sun was warm, the scent of lemons was intoxicating. She had thick gloves to protect her hands and a tool to pick the lemons that were out of reach. The camaraderie was incredible. Everyone wanted to help the newcomers. The party Maria had told her about at the hotel was definitely on tonight, and all the pickers were invited. What could possibly be better than this?

She soon returned to the rhythm of picking. With a lightweight bucket tied around her waist, dropping fruit into it as she went, she loaded the lemon gold into crates that were taken away on gleaming tractors. By the time the blazing sun had mellowed into the amber glow of early evening, she felt as if she’d been working there all her life.

She’d even made a new friend called Anita, a big, bonnie woman, as Ma Brown would have called her, with a ready smile as big as Texas. Anita came from the north of England each year to pick lemons, to feel the sun on her face, to prepare her for the long, cold winter, Anita said. ‘I’m on my own,’ she’d explained to Callie, ‘but when I come here, I have a ready-made family.’

That was when Callie told Anita about the Browns. ‘It’s people that make things special, isn’t it?’ she’d asked.

This wasn’t just a great way to extend her stay in Italy, Callie concluded as Anita offered to show her the way to the cookhouse, this was an entirely new slant on life, if she had the courage to seize it.

Seize it she would, Callie determined. Her limbs might be aching from all the unaccustomed exercise, but she felt exhilarated for the first time in years. This, this was freedom.

CHAPTER THREE

HER ADVENTURE HAD only just begun, Callie realised as excitement for the upcoming party built inside her. Anita had shown her to one of the many well-groomed courtyards surrounding the palace where the celebration was to be held. She couldn’t help glancing through the brilliantly lit windows of the palace, to see if she could spot the Prince. Of course, there was no one who looked remotely like a prince, and there was no special buzz in the crowd, so he probably wasn’t here. Anita and she accepted a small glass of iced Limoncello from a passing waiter and started to chat. They hadn’t been talking long before Callie felt compelled to turn around. She gasped. ‘Luca?’

‘Someone you know?’ Anita asked with surprise.

‘Sort of,’ Callie admitted. She’d just caught a glimpse of him, but now there was a crowd clustering round, so she could only see the top of his head. She wasn’t surprised by all the interest. It was his magnetism that had first gripped her. ‘He didn’t tell me he worked here,’ she told Anita.

‘He’s a regular—are you all right?’ Anita had been about to say something else about Luca, but was responding to the look on Callie’s face.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Callie insisted on a dry mouth. Which was an absolute lie. She had to put her glass down and cross her arms over her chest to hide her arousal as Luca looked at her. And he didn’t just glance her way. Their stares locked and held.

‘Uh-oh. He’s coming over,’ Anita warned. ‘I predict things are about to change for you,’ Anita commented sagely. She had to nudge Callie, who was as good as in a trance. ‘Better make myself scarce…’

‘No, Anita! Stay—’ Too late. Anita had already disappeared into the crowd.

Luca saluted Callie with a bottle of beer, and his slanting smile of recognition was infectious and made her smile too. Her heart raced out of control. It was so exciting to see him again. Too exciting. She should follow Anita. What was she thinking of, standing here, waiting for a man who looked as if he ate brass tacks for breakfast with a virgin on the side?

Quite simple, Callie concluded, lifting her chin. She didn’t run away from anything, and she wasn’t about to start now.

And he was quite a magnet. Luca looked better than ever in his banged-up work clothes. Swarthy-faced, with an unruly mop of thick black hair and an indecent amount of sharp black stubble, he was everything better avoided for those in search of a quiet life. But I’m here in search of adventure, Callie reminded herself with a secret inner grin. Tousled and rugged, with scratches on his powerful forearms and hard-muscled calves, he even looked sexy when he wiped smudges of dirt from his face with the back of his arm. The bonfire behind him was throwing off flames that provided the perfect showcase for a man who looked like a dark angel from hell come to wreak havoc on novice flirters.

‘Luca,’ she said pleasantly as he came over, acting as if her senses weren’t reeling.

‘Signorina Callista Smith,’ he countered with a slanting grin. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

‘You know my name?’ He must have been talking to Marco the barman, Callie realised. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being discussed by the two men.

‘You can’t expect to be ignored, signorina.’

As Luca made a mock bow, she tried not to notice they’d become the centre of attention. She didn’t flatter herself that he’d picked her out for any particular reason. If he was a regular as Anita had suggested, she was fresh meat.

His top was tight and skimmed the waistband of his low-slung shorts. It was impossible not to notice the arrow of dark hair that swooped beneath his zipper, or indeed the quite preposterous bulge that lay beneath. To say he looked amazing was an understatement. Even when she tried to focus on something harmless, like his tanned feet in simple thonged sandals, she realised they were sexy too. Her interest travelled up his legs to powerful calves, and on again to where she definitely shouldn’t be looking. She had to stop this right now, and concentrate!

No! Not there!

She was about to meet a very challenging man for the second time, and she’d better be ready for it, Callie warned herself firmly. Fixing her gaze on Luca’s darkly amused face, she determined not to let her gaze wander, but then thought, why not stare? Luca had never been shy about staring at her, and interest wasn’t a one-way street. His bronzed and muscular torso, barely covered by the ripped and faded top, invited attention. He was an outstanding specimen. A statue should be raised in the town square for everyone to admire.

‘Nice to see you at the party,’ he said, smiling in that faint way he had that made her body burn. ‘I hope they’re serving nuts tonight.’

She gave him a look, half smile, half scolding. He’d stopped within touching distance. His heat enveloped her. And that voice. Dark chocolate tones strummed her senses until they were clamouring for the sort of pleasure she guessed Luca knew only too much about. He towered over her in a way that blocked out the light, which was enough to warn her to be careful. She didn’t stand in anyone’s shadow. ‘Are you here on your own?’ she asked, diplomatically stepping away.

‘I am,’ he confirmed.

His voice curled around her, making her skin tingle. ‘No one waiting for you back home?’ she enquired casually.

‘My dogs, my cats and the horses,’ he said.

‘I think you know what I mean,’ she insisted.

‘Do I?’ Luca stared at her in a way that made heat curl low in her belly. ‘Do you always put people you’ve only just met through the third degree?’

When they look like you, and have who knows what secrets, yes, I do, she thought. ‘That depends who I’m talking to,’ she said.

‘So why do I get the third degree?’

‘Do we have enough time?’ she demanded, and when he laughed, she said honestly, ‘I just didn’t expect to see you here, so it’s a bit of a surprise.’

‘A surprise I hope you’re getting used to?’

His black eyes were dancing with laughter, so, responding in kind, she shook her head and heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘I’m trying to be tactful, and I realise now that blunt is much easier for me.’

‘I’m with you there,’ he said. ‘So be blunt.’

‘Are you married?’ she asked flat out. ‘Or do you have a partner, a special friend?’

Luca grinned. ‘You weren’t joking about blunt.’

‘Correct,’ Callie confirmed. ‘Before I say another word, I need to know where I stand.’

‘Do I look married?’

‘That’s not an answer to my question,’ she complained. ‘In fact, I’d call it an evasion.’

‘I’m not married,’ Luca confirmed as she turned to go. She stilled when he caught hold of her arm. His touch was like an incendiary device to her senses. ‘I’m unattached, other than being briefly joined to you,’ he said as he lifted his hand away. She felt the loss of it immediately. ‘Does that satisfy your moral code?’

‘My moral compass is pointing in a more hopeful direction,’ she agreed.

‘You’re an intriguing woman, Callista Smith.’

‘Callie.’ She enjoyed the verbal sparring with him. ‘And you must have led a sheltered life.’

He laughed out loud at that suggestion, making her wish they could carry on provoking each other for the rest of the night. Electricity sparked between them. He made her feel good. Primal attraction, she thought. Sex, she warned herself flatly. Who couldn’t think about sex with Luca?

He looked like a natural-born hunter who thought he’d found his prey. While under her blunt manner, Callie was sugar and spice and all things nice, and determined to remain that way. Her body could argue all it liked that sugar and spice could still enjoy verbal sparring, but she had no intention of taking things any further. Luca might be everything she’d fantasised about while she was on her knees scrubbing floors in the pub, but this was reality, not a dream world, and the safest thing she could do now was leave. ‘I was about to go home,’ she explained, glancing away down the drive.

‘Aren’t you enjoying yourself?’

Too much. ‘I am.’ She couldn’t lie. She’d enjoyed everything about today, and now the food smelled amazing, the band was playing, and it was a beautifully warm evening beneath a canopy of stars. And then there was Luca. ‘But I’ve got work tomorrow.’

‘So do I,’ he said smoothly.

‘You’re making this difficult for me.’ And hard to breathe, she silently added.

‘Why deny yourself the reward for a hard day’s work?’

That depended on the reward. Good grief, he was beautiful! His stillness reminded her of a big, soft-pawed predator preparing to pounce. She didn’t need a wake-up call, Callie concluded. She needed a bucket of ice-cold water tossing over her head.

‘Hey, Luca!’

They both swung around to see Marco coming over. It broke the tension for a while as Luca greeted Marco, but once the two men were done with complicated handshakes and Marco moved on, the two of them were alone again. ‘I thought you’d have gone in search of nuts by now,’ Luca remarked dryly.

‘I was waiting to say goodbye to you.’

‘Ah.’

Was he convinced, Callie wondered, or had he guessed that she was trapped like a rabbit in headlights by his brazen masculinity?

‘So why are you here, mystery woman? You’re staying at a five-star hotel, but work in the fields picking lemons?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ she challenged.

‘Nothing.’

‘Well, now we’ve got that sorted out, I’ll say goodnight.’ To give him his due, there was no more questions. Luca shrugged and stood aside to let her go, but as she passed he reached out to smooth a lock of hair from her face. His touch thrilled her. Her skin tingled, and her nipples tightened, while tiny pulses of sensation beat low down in her belly.

‘Stay,’ he insisted. ‘You’ll have more fun.’

That was what she was afraid of. ‘Should I be flattered by your suggestion?’ she asked coolly, searching his eyes.

‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘You should be on your guard.’

She made a point of glancing around. ‘Are there many predatory men at this party?’

‘None that stand a chance of getting close to you.’

‘Will you keep them away? I would have thought you had better things to do.’

‘And I thought you were leaving,’ he countered.

‘I am.’

He could hardly believe it when she walked away. This wasn’t a woman he could tease into his bed, but a woman to be reckoned with. Good. He needed a challenge. There was only one woman who could hold his interest tonight. He could hardly believe the transformation from butterfly at the bar, to working girl in the lemon groves. It was a good mix. That stubborn chin clinched it for him. He was done with insipid. She had a great walk too. He feasted his eyes as she walked away from him with her head held high and her shapely butt swaying provocatively beneath the simple clothes. She hadn’t a clue who he was. He doubted it would have made any difference. Status meant nothing to Callie, as proved by her easy transition from luxury living in the five-star hotel, to some of the hardest physical work in the area.

The sun had been kind to her today. Flushed from physical activity, she looked good enough to eat, something he’d put on hold until later in the evening, he reflected dryly. He watched as she met up with her friends. She was more relaxed than she’d been at the hotel. Laughing easily, she mimed words when the different languages spoken became a problem. Nothing seemed to faze her. Apart from him.

She was comfortable around everyone, as he was, and far more beautiful than he remembered. Young and natural—even the smear of dirt on her neck only made him think about licking it off. It was time he stopped thinking about Callie naked in his arms, or he’d be walking around the party uncomfortably aroused.

And, before he committed himself to taking her to bed, there were questions to be answered. Why was she picking fruit for a few euros a day when she was staying at a five-star hotel? Was it just for the experience? Who was funding her? Why was she in Italy? Was this a holiday or an escape? If she was escaping, from what? He had no intention of allowing Max to lure him into a honey trap that could discredit Luca, and expose the principality of Fabrizio to corruption beneath his half-brother’s rule. It was time to find out more.

As he approached Callie her friends melted away. ‘Where are they going?’ she asked with surprise.

They were diplomatically giving him space. Callie couldn’t help but be oblivious to the dynamics that existed between a prince and his people. However much he would have liked it to be different, obstacles between him and Utopia were not in his gift to remove.

‘Anyone would think you’d got the plague,’ she said, bringing a comic slant to bear on the situation.

‘Let’s hope it’s not that serious,’ he said, loving the way she could pop the pomposity bubble before it even had chance to form. She had raw, physical appeal, he mused as she stared up at him. It was all too easy to imagine her limbs wrapped around him as she sobbed with pleasure in his arms. ‘Dance?’ he suggested, curbing baser needs.

‘Not if I can help it,’ she exclaimed.

The response was pure Callie. ‘Why not?’ he demanded, play-acting wounded.

‘Because I have two left feet and the sense of rhythm of a hamster on a wheel.’

He shrugged. ‘Should be interesting. I’m a fast mover myself.’

She raised a disapproving brow, but her eyes betrayed her interest.

‘Perhaps I can slow you down?’ he suggested. ‘Show you an alternative to racing to the finish?’

Her cheeks flushed red. She’d got the sexual message in his words loud and clear, but she hit him with a blunt response. ‘You must be wearing steel-capped boots to feel so confident. And I’m going to sit this one out.’

He was nowhere near finished and caught hold of her arm. Momentum thrust her against him. She felt sensational, strong, lithe, and yet softly plump in all the right places. She was so tiny compared to him, but they fitted together perfectly.

‘You’re taking a lot for granted.’ She frowned, but made no attempt to move away.

‘I don’t see you rushing off,’ he countered softly.

‘Caveman.’

‘Nut freak.’

‘Nut freak?’ She stared into his eyes. Her lips were just a tempting distance away.

‘You’re quaint,’ he said, meeting her jade-green eyes head-on.

‘Quaint?’ she queried.

‘Old-fashioned.’

She appeared to consider this, and then said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with tradition. Someone has to take responsibility for keeping standards high.’

Yes. That was him. He stared at a mouth he could have feasted on until she fell asleep with exhaustion. ‘Talk to me,’ he murmured.

‘About what?’ she asked, her brow crinkling in enquiry.

He didn’t care. He just loved to watch her lips move as she goaded him. The thought of teasing those lips apart with his tongue to claim all the dark recesses of her mouth, along with everything else, fired him up until the hunger to take her was all-consuming. ‘That dance we talked about?’

‘You talked about.’ But she didn’t resist when he steered her towards a space that miraculously, as far as Callie was concerned, had opened for them on the packed dance floor.

When Luca pressed her close she gasped at the intensity of feeling. She was conscious that people were staring at them and whispering, which she guessed was only to be expected when she was dancing with the hottest man at the party. Why he’d chosen her to dance with, she had no idea. She hadn’t exactly made it easy for him. When he nuzzled her hair aside and kissed her neck, she didn’t care what his reasons were. She didn’t care about anything. The world and everyone in it simply dropped away.

CHAPTER FOUR

RISK VERSUS PLEASURE, Callie thought as she flicked a glance into Luca’s eyes. Even the briefest look sent heat surging through her. She could trust herself for one dance, she decided, which might have had something to do with the fact that when Luca took hold of her hand a thrill raced through her. When his other hand slipped into the hollow in the small of her back, she could think of nothing but closer contact. Fighting the urge, she kept a sensible distance between them. Other couples had made space for them, so there was no need to cling to him like a limpet.

Luca was really popular, she realised as they started to move to the music. They were attracting lots of interested glances and smiles. In fact, she would call it more of a buzz, so maybe the Prince was close by. She glanced around and realised that she wouldn’t know the Prince if she tripped over him. Everyone was probably wondering how she got so lucky, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. There was no chance to dwell on it. It was far more important to keep her wits about her. Dancing with Luca was a high-risk sport, she concluded as the sinuous melody bound them closer together. There was only thing more intimate they could do and be this close, and that was to make love—

She could put that out of her head right now! She was going to have one dance, and then she was going home. To pull away from Luca before the music ended would be rude. To fall into the trap of relaxing in his arms was stupid. Control would be her watchword. At least for now. Another, far more reckless side of Callie wanted to know why she couldn’t see this adventure out. She wasn’t Callie who scrubbed floors for a living now, but Callie from the lemon groves, who had a whole world of adventure tucked up inside her.

She made herself relax. Luca was right about dancing with him being easy. For some reason her feet seemed to know what to do. Her body moved instinctively with his. They could have been alone on the dance floor. She looked up to see him smiling a lazy, confident smile. He was good. He was very good. Luca might look rugged and tough, but when it came to seduction, he was smooth. So long as she was aware of it, she’d be okay, Callie reassured herself as they danced on.

But he must feel her trembling with arousal. Her body was on fire for him. Her heart was banging in her chest. She’d never played such dangerous games before. Luca was so brazenly virile she couldn’t think straight. She wanted to lace her fingers through his hair, and explore his body. She wanted to feel his sharp black stubble rasp her skin, and his firm, curving mouth tease hers into submission. While his big strong hands position me for pleasure…

No! She had to leave now.

But she didn’t.

And then an annoying drone buzzed overhead. ‘It’s only just checking who’s around,’ Luca reassured her when she looked up.

‘Like we’re so important,’ she said dryly. ‘I guess the Prince must be around.’

‘It’s a natural precaution when there’s a crowd,’ Luca explained.

Hmm. She loved to watch his mouth tilt at the corners when he smiled. ‘You’ve worked here before, so you’re used to it,’ she pointed out, ‘but this is all new to me.’ And how! And how fabulous, Callie thought as the music started up again, and one dance segued smoothly into two.

‘Tell me about home for you,’ Luca prompted.

‘I’m from a small town in the north of England.’

‘What’s it like?’

His hands were looped lightly around her waist as he pulled his head back to stare at her. A sensible question was welcome. A return to reality was exactly what she needed when their bodies were an electric hair’s breadth apart. But how to explain to a man who lived in one of the most beautiful countries in the world that her life back home was not like this? She settled for the truth. ‘I’m very lucky. I have the best of neighbours, a good job, and wonderful friends.’

‘So you live alone?’ he pressed as they danced on.

It was hard to concentrate on anything while she was this close to Luca, but she shook her mind back to the facts. ‘I lived with my father until recently. He died a short time before I came to Italy.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

‘He was killed in a drunken brawl,’ she explained. Luca had sounded genuinely concerned, and she didn’t want to mislead him, but her eyes brimmed as she said this. It had been such a tragic waste of life. ‘The world keeps turning,’ she said, to deflect Luca’s interest from the confusion on her face. Guilt had always played such a large part in her thinking where her father was concerned. She had never had any influence over him, but had always wished she could have changed things for the better for him.

‘And now you’re spreading your wings,’ Luca guessed, bringing her back on track.

‘I’m trying different things,’ she confirmed, brightening as she thought about the short time she’d been in Italy. ‘I love it here. I love the warmth of the people, and the sunshine, the glamour of a party beneath the stars—who wouldn’t love being here on the Prince’s estate? I feel free for the first time in a long time,’ she admitted carelessly. ‘Sorry. My mouth runs away with me sometimes.’

‘No. Go on,’ Luca encouraged. ‘I’m interested. I want to hear more.’

She was careful not to add the word adventure to her gush of information. He would definitely get the wrong idea. She told him a little more, and then his arms closed around her. His embrace was worryingly addictive and people were packed around them on the dance floor, making dancing close inevitable. Luca was easy to talk to and soon she was telling him things that perhaps she shouldn’t, like the camaraderie down the pub where she worked that could so easily erupt into violence when people had had too much to drink.

‘Dio, Callie, how could your father let you work there?’

She frowned. ‘No one gave me permission, and it was a well-paid job. Good, honest work,’ she emphasised, and then she laughed. ‘They had to pay their staff well, in order to keep them in such a rough area.’

‘It sounds horrendous,’ Luca remarked, not seeing anything amusing in what she’d said.

‘We needed the money,’ she said honestly, ‘and there aren’t too many options where I come from.’

Luca was a passionate Italian male, Callie reminded herself, and they could be very protective. He might look hard as rock, but he was no brute. And she was no saint, Callie thought as his hard thigh eased between hers. She tried using force of will to pretend nothing was happening, but that was the biggest fail yet. He was so big and she was so small that relaxing against him soon became snuggling into him, which felt ridiculously good, almost as if it was supposed to be. Music quickly restored her moral compass when the beat speeded up. She thought he’d let her go, lead her off the dance floor, but instead he caught her closer still.

‘You’re a good dancer.’

‘Only because you lift me off my feet.’ She laughed, then reviewed what was happening to her body while they were brushing, rubbing, nudging. It was both sensational and addictive. She wanted more. She wanted to toss her moral compass away.

As if sensing the way her thoughts were turning, Luca whispered in her ear, ‘I’m sure you’ve had enough dancing for now.’

She pulled back her head to stare into his eyes, which was dangerous, because now she discovered she was addicted to danger too. The camera drone chose that moment to intrude. ‘If the person behind those controls wants to take a better look at us, why don’t they just come down here and say so?’

‘I doubt we’re the sole object of the controller’s attention.’

‘You could have fooled me.’ She glared at the drone. ‘Do you think it’s so interested because the Prince is here?’

‘Possibly,’ Luca agreed.

‘I haven’t seen him yet. Have you? I mean, you’ve worked on the estate before, so you must know him.’

‘I’m offended,’ Luca said, half grinning, which suggested he wasn’t offended at all. ‘All you want to talk about is the Prince.’

‘It’s something to tell them about back home.’

‘What about me?’ he growled.

‘Don’t look for compliments. You won’t get them from me.’

He laughed and swept her off her feet.

‘Put me down this instant,’ she exclaimed.

‘Not a chance,’ he said. Amusement coloured his voice. ‘Don’t you want to know where your adventures could take you?’

‘I’ve got a pretty good idea, which is why I hope your tongue is firmly planted in your cheek. Just for the record, I’ll be sleeping on my own tonight,’ she added as Luca strode on across the courtyard with her safely locked in his arms.

‘Brava,’ he said, showing no sign of slowing down.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, she noticed. She should put up some sort of token struggle, but it was a magical night, a magical moment, and not too many of them came along.

Her senses rioted when Luca dipped his head to brush a kiss against her neck. She would see this adventure through, so long as it only took her from one side of the courtyard to the other. ‘I have to go,’ she insisted, when he lowered her to her feet to acknowledge some boisterous partygoers.

‘No. You have to stay,’ he argued when he was done, and so close to her ear that it tingled.

‘Are you determined to lead me astray?’

‘Would I?’ Sweeping her up before she had chance to protest, he strode on towards the palace gardens.

She was dangerously aroused, but for one night, she was going to be Callie from the lemon groves, without fear or guilt, or any of the dutiful thoughts that had curbed her in the past.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked as Luca opened a gate leading to lemon groves.

‘Wait and see.’

He didn’t stop until they reached the riverbank where he set her down. She had free will. She could do what she liked. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. Conscious he was watching her, she smiled, but Luca wasn’t fooled. ‘What’s worrying you?’ he said.

‘I’m not worried.’ Apart from the longing to have more nights like this, which she knew in her heart of hearts would not be possible. Moonlight lit the scene. Sparkling water rushed by. The bed of grass beneath her feet was soft and deep, and the midnight-blue sky overhead was littered with stars. It was the perfect setting on the perfect night, and Luca was the perfect man. Reaching out, she linked their hands.

Luca soothed and seduced her with kisses, with touches, and with the expression in his eyes. She believed they were connecting on a deeper level. He made her want to know more about him, and for this to be the start of something, rather than the grand finale. His hands worked magic on her body. His strength seduced her, his scent seduced her…everything about Luca seduced her. He was a man of the earth, a man of the people, who worked with his body, his mind, and good humour, as well as unstinting loyalty towards his Prince, which he’d proved when he had refused to point him out to her.

This adventure might have its ups and downs, but Luca had featured large in every part of it. He made her spirit soar, and her body cry out for his touch.

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. There was no chance she was going anywhere any time soon. She was a woman with needs and desires, who saw no reason for self-denial. She hadn’t prepared for this, but had taken the usual precautions, more in hope than expectation of a love life some time in the far distant future. She hadn’t planned anything, because placing trust in a man was a huge deal for Callie, but Luca was different. He made her feel safe. He made her believe she could trust him.

His mouth was warm and as persuasive as sin, and, though she was tentative at first, she soon matched his fire. He was more controlled. She was not. She was new to this, and had had no idea how the fire could take hold and consume her. Luca kept his touch tantalisingly light, far too light for her frustrated body. The urge to know every part of him intimately was clawing at her senses. ‘I want you,’ she said as she stared up into his eyes.

He knew she was suffering. Of course he knew. He was responsible for it. She was hardly playing hard to get, and Luca was available for pleasure. Tracing his magnificent torso over his insubstantial top tipped the balance from caution to action. ‘Take it off,’ she instructed, ‘and then the rest of your clothes.’

His eyes fired with interest and amusement. ‘You first,’ he countered. ‘Or at least, match me.’

And so the game began. It was a game with only one conclusion. Once started, it couldn’t be stopped. Without breaking eye contact, she began unbuttoning her blouse. She did so slowly, and felt heat rise between them. It was her turn to make him wait. Pushing the soft fabric from her shoulders, she let it drop.

He frowned. ‘You’re wearing a bra.’

‘I’d say you’re overdressed too,’ she murmured.

He smiled.

‘You should have drawn up your rules before this started,’ she teased, ‘because now you have to take off your flip-flops too.’

Maintaining eye contact as he kicked them off, she whispered, ‘And now your shorts.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Absolutely sure.’ She would keep her eyeline level with his.

‘Take off your trainers,’ he suggested.

‘If that’s a ruse to give me chance to have second thoughts, save it. I won’t change my mind.’

‘I’ll take my chances.’ Luca’s stare was long and steady. ‘By the time I’ve finished, you won’t have a stitch of clothing on,’ he promised.

She shrugged, pretending indifference, but her heart was banging in her chest. ‘If you’d rather not?’

‘Oh, I’d rather,’ he said with a look that made her body flame with lust.

She toed off her trainers, wishing she’d dressed for the Arctic and had more clothes to remove. Luca was in serious danger of winning this game. How would such an experienced man judge her when he saw her naked? But it was exciting and fun, and every bit the adventure she’d dreamed about…the adventure she wouldn’t be telling the Browns about.

She should have known he’d go commando. He’d lowered his zipper and allowed his shorts to slide down his lean frame. Currently, they were hanging on his thighs. Reaching down, he pushed them the rest of the way and, stepping out of them, he stood in front of her, unconcerned. ‘You still have some way to go,’ he commented.

She would not look down. ‘My rules state—’ She gasped as Luca yanked her close.

‘Your rules count for nothing,’ he assured her in a seductive growl as he nuzzled his stubble-roughened face against her neck.

‘Oh—’ Breath shot from her lungs. She couldn’t help but rub her body against his in the hunt for more contact between them, but Luca held her firmly away.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, all control, while she was a gasping mass of arousal. ‘I can see I have some training to do.’

‘Please,’ she said, making his eyes flare with amusement.

‘Nice bra,’ he commented as he deftly removed it.

Now that was definitely going to give him the wrong idea. She’d chosen something frivolous for Italy. It had seemed such fun at the time. And safe. When she had been shopping in a brightly lit department store with not a single good-looking man around, the flimsy bra and thong had seemed harmless. The brand was quite exclusive, meant for show rather than practicality. Designer lingerie in bright pink silk chiffon bordered with palest aquamarine lace was hardly Callie’s usual choice. She was more of a sensible white cotton type. She could only imagine what Luca was thinking.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, reassuring and disarming her all in one breath.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘I guess there’s only one way to convince you,’ he said, laughing softly.

He drew her closer, inch by inch, and then he kissed her. And this was not a teasing brush of his lips, but something more that drew emotion out of her, until she was happy and sad, excited and confused, all at once. She was happy to be here with him, and sad because she knew it couldn’t last. He excited her. Her body was going crazy for more—which he knew. And she was apprehensive too, in case she got this terribly wrong. There were so many ways she could get this wrong.

‘Stop,’ Luca murmured against her mouth. ‘Stop thinking and just allow yourself to feel for once. Go with your instincts, Callie.’

Her instincts were telling her to rub herself shamelessly against him, to part her legs and find relief as quickly as she could for the throbbing ache of frustration that he’d put there. And she had mightily encouraged, Callie conceded. She wanted this badly. Even more than that, she wanted the connection between them to last, but she had to face facts: Luca was an itinerant worker, as was she, and so they’d both move on.

He kissed away her doubts as he lowered her slowly to the ground. Stretching out his length against hers on the cool swathe of grass, he made sure that the world faded away, leaving just the two of them to kiss and explore each other. It was as if time stood still. Water still bubbled nearby, and a light breeze still ruffled the leaves overhead, but they were in another world where her senses were totally absorbed in Luca’s warm, clean man scent, and the feel of his powerful body against hers. His chest was shaded with just the right amount of dark hair that rasped against her nipples as he moved. She was filled with desire for him, and only felt a moment of apprehension when he reached into the pocket of his discarded shorts and she heard a foil rip. She was glad he had the good sense to protect them both, because she had no intention of pulling back. She had no regrets. None.

When he dipped his head to suckle her mind exploded with sensation. Moving her head on the cushioned earth, she bucked her hips repeatedly, involuntarily, responding to the hungry demands of her body. In the grip of sexual hunger, she reached for his shoulders and held on tightly, as if she were drowning and Luca was her rock. She had stifle a gasp of excitement when he moved over her. The weight of him against her thighs was new to her, and a little frightening. She had to tell herself that this was what she wanted, and that nothing was going to stop her now, nothing.

‘I’m right here,’ he soothed as if he could sense her apprehension.

‘Don’t I know it?’ she joked half-heartedly.

‘Seriously. Stop worrying. I would never hurt you.’

She stared into his eyes and saw the truth behind his statement. It was as if that had opened the floodgates to hunger, to curiosity, which left her fierce with passion, as well as uncertain as to what Luca was used to. Goodness knew, her experience was limited, to say the least. She was on a journey of discovery, Callie consoled herself, and this was an adventure that would carve a memory so deep she would never forget this moment, or this man.

Luca whispered against her mouth, ‘Trust me, Callie,’ and then his hands worked their magic and she was lost.

‘Oh…that’s…’

‘Good?’ he suggested in a low, amused murmur.

Her answer was a series of soft, rhythmical sighs. ‘Better than good,’ she managed to gasp.

‘More?’ he suggested.

The hands cupping her buttocks were so much bigger than hers, and his skilful fingers could work all sorts of wickedness.

‘Would you like me to touch you here?’

His tone was low and compelling. ‘So much,’ she admitted, sucking in a shaking breath.

One of Luca’s slightly roughened finger pads was all it took to send her mindless with excitement. He knew exactly what to do. He started stroking steadily, rhythmically, applying the right amount of pressure at just the right speed.

‘Good?’

Was she supposed to answer? She daren’t speak. She was frightened of losing control.

‘Would you like me to tip you over the edge?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Yes, you are.’

Staring into Luca’s laughing eyes, she knew he was right.

He kissed her as he explored her, a shallow invasion at first with a single finger, and then deeper, with one, two, and finally three fingers. ‘You’re so ready,’ he commented with approval.

She rocked her body in time to the steady thrust of Luca’s hand. It wasn’t as good, or as immediate as when he attended to her achingly sensitive little nub. It was a different feeling, and one just as compelling in its way. It made her want him to lodge deep inside her. The urge to be one with him was overwhelming.

Nudging her thighs apart with his, he continued to touch her in the way that took her mind off everything else. The delicious sensation of having him enclose her buttocks in his big, warm hands while he touched her lightly at the apex of her thighs was startlingly good. He found new ways to tease her, moving his body up and down until she was so aroused he could slide in easily, but then he pulled out again, provoking her more than ever. ‘Don’t stop!’ she exclaimed with frustration.

He ignored this plea and continued to tease her. Wild for him, she begged for more in words she’d never used before.

‘Like this?’ Luca suggested in a low growl.

She gasped with shock when he sank deep. For a moment she didn’t know if she liked it or not. He was very slow and very careful, but that only gave her chance to realise how much he stretched her. Every nerve ending she possessed leapt instantly to attention. The sensation was sudden and complete. She couldn’t think, she could only feel. ‘Yes,’ she sighed, moving with him.

Luca maintained a dependable rhythm, taking her to the edge and over, and he still moved intuitively, steadily, to make sure that her ride of pleasure continued for the longest possible time. She might have screamed. She might have called his name. She only knew that by the time she quietened her throat was sore, and with a gasp she collapsed back against the grass.

‘And we’re only just getting started,’ Luca promised with amusement.

Still lodged deep, he began to move again, persuasively and gently to take account of her slowly recovering body. He kept up this sensitive buffeting until the fire gripped her again and she wound her legs tightly around his waist as he thrust deep. She didn’t wait to be tipped over the edge this time, but worked her hips with his, falling fast and hard, while Luca held her firmly in place so she received the full benefit of each deep, firm stroke.

‘Greedy,’ he approved as she gasped for breath.

‘You make me greedy.’ Luca was still hard. She was still hungry. She reached for him and he took her again.

Callie was unique in his experience. It was as if they’d been lovers for years, but could enjoy the first, furious appetite that came with discovery of someone special. Not only could she match him, she fired him like no other. He was driven by the primitive urge to imprint himself on her body, her mind, and her memory. Pinning her down beneath him with her arms above her head, he thrust firmly to the hilt. She growled, and bucked towards him, as hungry as she had ever been. She was wild and abandoned, as he’d imagined Callie would be once he discovered what lay beneath her carefully cultivated shell. When they were still again, she turned towards him, as slowly as if her bones had turned to lead. Smiling, she managed groggily, ‘You’re amazing.’

‘And so are you,’ he replied softly.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEY BATHED IN the stream, seemingly unaware of the chill of the water, and dried off on the bank next to each other, kissing and staring into each other’s eyes. Luca seemed surprised when she insisted she would go home on one of the staff buses, but she wasn’t ready to spend the night with him. She needed to clear her head and come to terms with the fact that this might have been a life-changing experience, but it had no future.

Let this be, she thought as Luca smiled against her mouth before kissing her. Let it remain shiny and special. Allow nothing to taint it. She had those same thoughts when she boarded the bus, but by the time she walked into the hotel lobby her mood had changed, mainly because the concierge was waiting for her, and he looked worried to death.

‘Thank goodness, Signorina Smith. This came for you.’

She looked at the envelope he was holding out. It was obviously urgent. She ripped it open and started reading. There was some confusion about her room at the bed and breakfast. She had intended to move hotels tomorrow, but now it seemed her room at the B & B was no longer available. Crumpling the note in her hand, she frowned as she wondered what to do next. She couldn’t afford to stay on here.

‘Signorina Smith?’

The concierge was hovering anxiously. ‘Yes?’

‘Forgive my intrusion, but I can see how concerned you are. Please don’t be worried. The manager at the establishment you had hoped to move to left that note for you. He has informed us of a problem, and so it is arranged that you continue to stay here.’

Callie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’m afraid I can’t afford to stay here,’ she admitted frankly. The concierge looked as embarrassed as she felt and this wasn’t his fault. ‘I’d love to stay on,’ she added warmly. ‘Everyone’s been so kind to me, but I need to find somewhere cheaper. Maybe you can help?’

‘Please, signorina,’ the concierge implored, shifting uncomfortably from polished shoe to polished shoe. ‘There will be no charge. You have been let down. This is a matter of local pride. The management of this hotel and the staff who care for you will be insulted if you offer payment.’

‘And I’ll be insulted if I don’t,’ Callie said bluntly. ‘I really can’t stay on if I don’t pay my way.’

‘The cost of your room has been covered.’

She swung around in surprise. ‘Luca! Are you following me?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘What do you know about this?’ she demanded. Luca, tousled and magnificent, couldn’t have looked more incongruous in the sleek, polished surroundings of the five-star hotel. She had to curb a smile as she glanced down at her clothes, and then at his. They both looked exactly what they were, labourers from the fields, which was another reason for decamping to another, much plainer establishment. Not that her body could have cared less what Luca was wearing. As far as her body was concerned, Luca looked better naked, anyway.

A million and one feelings flooded through her as they stared at each other. ‘Are you responsible for this?’ she asked, holding out the letter. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the concierge, who’d returned to his booth, looking more anxious than ever. Something was definitely going on. Luca knew Marco. Had they pulled strings between them so that she would have to stay with Luca? She refused to be manipulated, especially by Luca.

‘I couldn’t help overhearing that you were having difficulties,’ he began.

She bit her tongue and decided to wait to see what he said next. When he shrugged and smiled, threatening to weaken her resolve, she said, ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about my mysterious benefactor, or the fact that the hotel is refusing to charge me?’

He raised a brow. ‘Don’t you like it here?’

‘That’s not the point,’ she insisted. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Luca was speaking as calmly as if he were a tour operator dealing with a quibbling client, rather than a controlling alpha male who seemed to think that everything and everyone should run to his prescription. He might have quite literally swept her off her feet at the party, but post-party common sense had had time to set in.

‘My only concern is that you have somewhere comfortable to stay,’ he insisted.

She bristled. ‘Well, thank you, but I’m quite capable of making my own arrangements.’

‘They had a burst pipe at the small establishment where you booked a room,’ Luca explained while the concierge nodded vehemently. ‘Marco alerted me to this, and the concierge was only trying to help.’

‘How did Marco know I was planning to move to the B & B?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘I’m sorry, Callie, but you can’t live in a small town like this and not know what’s going on.’

‘So Marco told you?’ How could she have been so dim?

‘Stay on at the hotel,’ Luca offered, as if he were the owner of the sumptuous building. ‘You’ll be closer to the lemon groves here.’ He shot her a questioning look. ‘That’s if you intend to continue working on the Prince’s estate.’

‘Of course I do,’ Callie confirmed. She loved it on the Prince’s estate, and was nowhere near ready to leave yet.

‘So, come back with me.’

Luca was waiting at the lobby door, as if it were all a done deal. Did he mean go back to the party with him? Or did Luca have something different in mind? She had paid for the hotel until tomorrow, and packing could wait until the morning. Meanwhile…adventure beckoned!

More adventure? Why not? Luca was everything virile and masculine, drawing her deeper into the adventure she’d always dreamed about. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said, knowing she needed time to think more than ever now. ‘And, thank you,’ she added to the concierge as she walked away.

Callie avoided him the next day. His pride was piqued. However, everyone broke for lunch in the afternoon and congregated at the cookhouse. She was there, and they nodded to each other as they stood in line.

‘Luca.’

Her greeting was cool. She hadn’t appreciated his interference at the hotel, he gathered. He was hot from the fields, and hot for Callie, who had spent the morning in an air-conditioned facility the size of an aircraft hangar. Small, neat and clean, she slammed into his senses in her prim little buttoned-up blouse. Her denim shorts were short and they displayed her legs to perfection, as well as a suggestion of the curve of the bottom he’d caressed last night. That was all he needed before an afternoon’s work.

‘Excuse me, please,’ she said politely, waiting with her loaded tray to move past him.

The urge to ruffle those smooth feathers and make her wild with passion again was more than a passing thought. Weighing up the bandana he wore tied around his head to keep his crazy hair under control, she moved on to scrutinise the ancient top skimming his waist, though was careful not to look any lower. He took charge of her tray. Her gaze settled on his hands, and then his wrists, which were banded with leather studded with semi-precious stones, collected for him by the children of Fabrizio so he wouldn’t forget them while he was away. ‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said, trying to take the tray off him.

‘I’m sure you can,’ he agreed, ‘but sometimes it’s good to let people help you.’

Her brow pleated in thought as if she’d heard this somewhere before.

‘Are you staying on at the hotel, or have you found somewhere else to stay?’ he enquired lightly as he carried her tray to the table where Anita was waiting for Callie to join her.

‘Is that why you’re here? To question me?’ Callie probed with a penetrating look.

For a moment he couldn’t decide whether to shrug off her question or throw her over his shoulder like the caveman she thought him. He did know one thing. The tension between them couldn’t be sustained.

‘See you later,’ he said, turning to go.

‘Not if I see you first,’ she called teasingly after him.

A little frustration would do them both good, he decided. Ignoring the buzz of interest that accompanied him to the door, he saluted the chefs and left the cookhouse.

Infuriating man! How was it possible to feel so aroused, and yet control the impulse to jump on Luca and ravish him in front of everyone? Which was probably exactly how he expected her to feel. The tension in the cookhouse had been high, and made worse because people were obviously trying hard not to stare at them. She had tried to start a conversation with Anita, but couldn’t concentrate and kept losing her train of thought.

‘If you take my advice, you’ll get it over with,’ Anita advised, glancing at Callie with concern.

‘Get what over with?’ Callie demanded, frowning.

‘Sex. You need to sate yourself.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh, come off it, Callie. You’ll be no good to anyone, least of all yourself, until you do.’

‘Anita, I’m shocked!’

‘No, you’re not, you’re frustrated,’ Anita argued. ‘No one would think any the worse of you if you glut yourself on that one.’ She glanced in the direction Luca had gone.

‘This isn’t an adult playground. It’s a place of work.’

‘Listen to yourself,’ Anita protested with a forkful of crisp, golden fries poised in front of her mouth. ‘Take precautions and don’t involve your heart. You’re here for adventure, aren’t you?’

It might be too late to do as Anita said, Callie reflected as she left the cookhouse ahead of her friend. Her heart was already involved. She couldn’t last a minute without wondering if she’d see Luca again soon.

Turning onto the dusty track leading through the lemon groves, she headed for the storage facility where she’d been working that morning, only to see Luca coming towards her.

‘Shall I show you a short cut?’ he offered.

A short cut to what? she wondered as he grinned and took hold of her hand.

It was no good. He couldn’t get through the afternoon without it, without her, without Callie, without being up against a tree kissing her as if they were the last couple on earth and time was running out fast.

‘Luca—we can’t—’

‘Yes, we can,’ he insisted. Pressing his body weight against her, he slowly moved his body against hers until she was sucking in great gulping sobs of frustration.

‘I need you,’ she gasped out.

‘I know,’ he whispered.

He found her with his hand over the rough, thick denim shorts and stroked firmly. He could feel her heat and his imagination supplied the rest. He couldn’t wait. Neither could she. They tore at her shorts together. Removing them quickly, he tossed them away. There was no time for kissing, or touching, or preparing, there was only this. He freed himself. She scrambled up him. He dipped at the knees and took her deep. She came violently after a few firm thrusts. Tearing at him with hands turned to claws, she threw back her head and howled out her pleasure as each powerful spasm gripped her. When he felt her muscles relax, and her hands lost their grip, he gave it to her again, fast and hard.

‘Yes!’ she cried out as he claimed her again. ‘More,’ she begged, blasting a fiercely demanding stare into his eyes.

‘You can have all you want,’ he promised as he worked her steadily towards the next release. ‘But not right now,’ he murmured, still thrusting, ‘because we have to go back to work.’

‘You’re joking.’ Her eyes widened. ‘How can I go back to work after this?’

‘That discipline we talked about?’

‘You talked about.’

He ended the argument with a few fast thrusts, and she screamed out her pleasure as they both claimed their most powerful release yet.

‘You’re right,’ she accepted groggily a long while after she’d quietened. ‘They’ll be short a team member if I don’t go back, and I can’t let everyone down.’

He could have sorted this out for her with a few words in the appropriate ear, but that would be taking advantage of his position, and so he huffed an accepting laugh and lowered her down to the ground. They were both bound by duty. Groping for his phone, he clicked it on to see the time. What he saw was a line of missed calls. Springing up, he dislodged her. ‘Sorry, I have to take this,’ he explained as he walked away. Sorting himself out as the call connected, he tucked the phone between ear and his shoulder and asked a few pertinent questions. Having cut the line, he beckoned to Callie. ‘Sorry, but there’s somewhere I have to be.’

‘Your afternoon shift?’ she queried, frowning.

‘Something like that, but I’ll have to leave the estate.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked, feeling his tension.

‘Nothing.’ He sounded abrupt, but there was no time for explanations.

Callie was hurt. She refused to meet his eyes. His sharp response had shocked her. And no wonder, when one minute they were totally absorbed in each other, even if that was up against a tree, and the next he couldn’t wait to leave. It couldn’t be helped. He’d see her again, if and when he came back.

She didn’t have much experience of love affairs, but she knew enough to know Luca’s behaviour wasn’t acceptable. His intended departure was brutal and sudden, and only went to prove she didn’t know the man she was with. She didn’t know him at all. Shame and humiliation swept over her in hot, ugly waves as he paced impatiently while she struggled to put on her shorts as fast as she could. For Luca it was just sex, necessary like eating and breathing, and now it was done, he couldn’t wait to leave.

What a mug I am, Callie thought as she pulled up her zipper. Even her well-used body mocked her as she dressed. It was so tender and still so responsive, while her mind continued to whirl in agitated spirals as she flashed glances at a man who seemed to have forgotten she existed. She’d been swept up in a fantasy, but as far as Luca was concerned they were two healthy adults who’d wanted sex. Now that was done there was nothing left. She couldn’t even be angry with him. She’d been a more than willing partner. She was just puzzled as to how they could seem so close, and now this.

She glanced at him. He glanced back, but only to check on her progress. There’d be no more conversation or confiding, no more intimate jokes. Smoothing her hair as best she could, she looked at the time on her phone and grimaced. She was already late for the afternoon shift and would have to take a shower before returning to work. It must have been her heavy sigh that prompted Luca to say, ‘There are facilities next to the building where you’re working. You’ll find everything there—towels, shampoo—’

Did he do this on a regular basis? Callie wondered. ‘Thanks.’ Why wouldn’t he? Luca came here every year. She couldn’t be the first woman to fall for his blistering charm. Her face flamed red as she pictured him with someone else. She’d thought they were special, which only went to prove how little she knew about men. She could understand he was in a hurry, but couldn’t there be just the slightest pleasantry between them, to allow for an exit with dignity?

‘So that’s it?’ she said as she checked her top was properly tucked in.

‘Should there be more?’ he demanded.

His response was the slap in the face she badly needed. Something had to bring her to her senses. Reality had landed. Hooray. He was right. What more should there be?

Callie was angry, but they were hardly at the stage where he could confide state secrets. She controlled herself well, but the tension in her jaw and the spark in her eyes told their own story. It couldn’t be helped. News of Max’s attempted coup was for his ears only. He strode on ahead as soon as Callie was ready. His mind was already elsewhere. Stabbing numbers into his cell, he told his staff to prepare the helicopter. He had to get to Fabrizio fast. He would just have time to shower and change before it arrived to pick him up. Max and his cronies had been causing trouble again, and, though they had been swiftly suppressed, the people of Fabrizio needed the reassurance of seeing their Prince.

‘So, you’re not even going to wait for me?’ Callie called after him.

He turned around, shrugged impatiently then kept on walking. She was no longer his priority. However much he might want her to be, he couldn’t put his own selfish pleasures first.

‘What’s got under your skin?’ Anita asked when the two women bumped into each other outside the shower block. ‘A man? One man in particular?’

Anita sounded so hopeful that Callie couldn’t bear to disillusion her. ‘Tell you later,’ she promised as she hurried off for her afternoon shift.

‘Wave goodbye to the Prince before you go,’ Anita called after her.

Callie stopped and turned around. ‘Where is he?’

Shielding her eyes, Anita stared up at a large blue helicopter with a royal crest of Fabrizio on the side.

‘Apparently he’s been called back to Fabrizio to deal with an emergency,’ Anita explained as both women protected their eyes against the aircraft’s downdraft, which had raised dust clouds all around them. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t be an emergency when Luca gets there.’

‘Sorry?’ Callie froze.

‘Prince Luca’s will is stronger than any army his brother Max could raise, and his people adore him,’ Anita explained. ‘The people don’t trust Max as far as they could throw him. I read in the press today that Prince Luca intends to buy Max off. Max will do anything for money,’ Anita explained, ‘and that includes relinquishing his claim to the throne. Max needs Luca’s money to pay his gambling debts. He’d bleed the country dry, if he became ruler. The late Prince, their father, knew this. That’s why he made Prince Luca his heir—Callie? Are you all right?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that Luca was the Prince?’ Callie stared at her friend in total disbelief, but how could she be angry with Anita when Callie was guilty of ignoring what had been, quite literally, under her nose?

‘I’m sorry,’ Anita said as she enveloped Callie in a big hug. ‘I thought you knew. I thought, like the rest of us, you were being discreet by not naming him, or talking about him. We all know that’s what Prince Luca prefers. If I’d guessed for a moment—’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Callie insisted. ‘I’m to blame. I only saw what I wanted to see.’ She stared up at the helicopter as it disappeared behind some cloud. Luca hadn’t told her anything, let alone that he was the Prince. What a fool she was. How could she have missed all the clues? They were as obvious to her now as the bright red arrow she hadn’t noticed when she’d first arrived at the Prince’s estate. Only worse, much worse, Callie concluded. She didn’t blame Luca. Was he supposed to act like Prince Charming in a fairy tale? He was a man, with all the cravings, faults and appetite that went along with that, and she hadn’t exactly fought him off.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Anita asked.

Callie was thinking that Luca didn’t have to excuse his actions. He simply called for his helicopter and flew off. But into a difficult situation, she reminded herself. Even if Luca and his brother had never been close, no one needed to remind Callie how much a barb from within the family could hurt.

‘I thought he was one of us,’ she admitted to Anita.

‘He is one of us,’ Anita confirmed hotly.

Callie smiled, knowing there was no point in arguing with Anita, one of Luca’s staunchest supporters, but she still couldn’t get her head around her own clumsy mistake. It was so much easier to think of Luca as a worker, rather than a prince, but how she could have been so wrapped up in her Italian adventure that she hadn’t guessed the truth before now defeated her.

‘Max’s uprising was over before it began,’ Anita explained as she linked arms with Callie. ‘You can’t fault Prince Luca for keeping his word to his father, the late Prince. Luca’s been coming here for years to work alongside the pickers, but nothing’s more important to him than the pledge he made to keep his country safe, and we all understand why he had to go back to Fabrizio.’

All except Callie, who was still floundering about in the dark wondering why Luca hadn’t told her his true identity. Perhaps there were too many people who only wanted to be close to him for the benefits they could gain, apparently like his brother, Max. She could forgive him if that were the case. Well, sort of. Luca expected her to trust him, but he clearly didn’t trust her.

And was she always truthful?

The only time she’d reached out since arriving in Italy was to text Rosie to reassure the Browns that everything was going well. She’d explained that she was going to extend her stay, but had kept her answers to Rosie’s excited questions bland in the extreme. She was staying on because she wanted to learn more about Italy, Callie had said, which explained why she had taken a part-time job. She just hadn’t expected to get her heart broken into pieces and trampled on in the process. ‘I’ll be leaving soon,’ she mused out loud.

‘Must you? Oh, no. Please don’t. Was it something I said? I didn’t mean to probe,’ Anita assured Callie with concern, ‘and I’ll understand completely if you don’t want to tell me why you’re leaving.’

Callie responded with a warm hug for her new friend. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ she assured Anita. ‘If anyone’s at fault, it’s me. I could have asked Luca more questions, but chose not to. I didn’t want reality to intrude, I suppose. It’s better if I go home and get real. It’s too easy to believe the dream here.’

How true was that? She couldn’t believe she’d made such a fool of herself with Luca.

‘Can’t you stay a little longer?’ Anita begged. ‘We’re only just getting to know each other, and I’ll miss you.’

Tears sprang to Callie’s eyes at this confession, and the two women exchanged a quick, fierce hug. ‘I hope you’ll come and visit me?’ Callie insisted. ‘I don’t want to lose touch, either.’

‘No chance,’ Anita promised stoutly as they stood side by side on the dusty path that ran through the groves. ‘When I go home, it’s to a damp northern mill town not too far from your docks, so there’s no reason why we can’t meet up.’

‘Come for Christmas,’ Callie exclaimed impetuously. ‘Please. I’ll ask Ma Brown. The more, the merrier, she always says. Promise you will.’

‘Are you serious?’ Anita looked concerned, and then her face lit up when she realised that Callie meant every word. ‘I usually spend Christmas alone.’

‘Not this year,’ Callie vowed passionately with another warm hug. ‘I’ll speak to Ma and Pa Brown as soon as I get back, and I’ll send you the details.’

‘You’re a true friend, Callie,’ Anita said softly.

‘I won’t forget you,’ Callie promised.

Casting one last wistful look around the sun-drenched lemon groves, Callie firmed her jaw. She might be Callie from the docks when she returned home, but she would always be Callie from the lemon groves in her heart.

CHAPTER SIX

‘WHERE THE HELL is she? Someone must know.’

The staff stared at him blankly. He was back in the warehouse where the lemons were stored. As soon as he’d sorted the problems in Fabrizio, he’d returned to his estate expecting to find Callie still working there. He hadn’t realised how much he’d miss her until she wasn’t around. ‘Callie Smith?’ he exclaimed, exasperated by the continued silence. ‘Anyone?’

Apologetic shrugs greeted his questions. No one knew where she was. Or they weren’t telling, he amended, glancing at Anita, who was staring fixedly six inches above his head. He’d made it back just before the end of the season when the casual workers left. Most of the pickers had already gone home, but some had stayed on to make sure everything was stored properly and they were set fair for next year. Why would Callie stay when I’ve been so brusque?

Wheeling around, he strode to the exit. Fresh from resolving a potential uprising in Fabrizio, he could surely solve the mystery of one missing woman. Max had accepted a pay-off equivalent to the GDP of a small country, and Luca had paid this gladly with the proviso that Max stayed out of Luca’s life and never returned to Fabrizio. He had the funds to buy anything he wanted, even freedom from Max, but could he buy Callie? In the short time he’d known her, he’d learned that, not only was Callie irreplaceable, she was unpredictable too. Her newfound freedom after years of duty to her father had lifted her, and in the space of a couple of days Luca had succeeded in knocking her down. Throwing money at a problem like Max worked. Callie was just as likely to throw it back.

He entered the office on the estate and everyone stood to attention. In a dark, tailored suit, Luca was dressed both as a prince and a billionaire, and not one member of staff had missed that change. ‘Relax, please. I’m here to ask for your help.’

As always, his people couldn’t have been more accommodating. They gave him Callie’s home address from her file. Now there was just Callie to deal with, he reflected as he left the building. He doubted she’d be quite so helpful, and his smile faded. He’d never been unsure of an outcome before, but he couldn’t be sure of Callie.

He took the helicopter for the short flight to the airport, where his flight plan to the north of England was already filed. He’d fly the jet himself. The thought of being a passenger appalled him. He needed something to do. Callie occupied every corner of his mind. The unfinished business between them banged at his brain. There was no time to lose. He didn’t leave loose ends, never had.

Could it really be more than two months since she’d first met Luca? It was certainly time to take stock of her life. That didn’t take very long. She was living in one freezing, cold room over a dress shop where she worked six days a week to fund her studies at night school. She was determined to get ahead by building on the Italian language she’d already picked up on her trip to Italy. Her love affair with the country was in no way over, and it had turned out that she had a flair for languages. She had moved to another town, because she didn’t have a home to go back to as such. Her old home next door to the Browns had new tenants, and though the Browns had begged her to stay on with them, Callie had insisted that they’d done enough for her, and that it was time for her to go it alone. ‘I wish I could have brought you more exciting news from my adventures,’ she’d told them.

‘Exciting enough,’ Rosie had exclaimed, her eyes fever bright when Callie talked about the Prince.

Callie hadn’t told anyone about the time she’d spent locked in the Prince’s arms, and had deflected Rosie’s questions by telling her that staying in a five-star hotel had kept her away from the real Italy. ‘The posh hotel was lovely,’ she’d explained, ‘but it was bland.’

‘Unlike the Italian men?’ Rosie guessed, still digging for information.

‘And so I looked for a job amongst the people,’ Callie had driven on in an attempt to avoid Rosie’s question. She had never lied to her friend, and she never would.

‘You’re too hard on yourself, love,’ Pa Brown had insisted when Callie explained that without the young maid’s suggestion she would still have been sitting in the hotel, rather than experiencing the lemon groves she had grown to love. ‘You wanted to get out and do an honest day’s work. You asked for help to find some. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all need help sometimes.’

Pa Brown’s words resonated with Callie more than ever now. He was right. In her current situation, she would have to ask for help at some point.

Yes. From Callie Smith, Callie concluded. Like millions of women who’d found themselves in this situation, she’d get through, and get through well. Though there were times when she wished she’d agreed to see Luca when he first flew to England to set things straight between them.

‘Why won’t you see him?’ Rosie had asked with incredulity on the first occasion. ‘He’s an incredible man and he cares about you. He must do, to leave everything to fly here to find you. And he’s a prince, Cal,’ Rosie had added in an awestruck gasp, ‘as well as one of the richest men in the world.’

Callie remembered firming her lips and refusing to add to this in any way. She had simply given her head a firm shake. The money meant nothing to her and neither did Luca’s title. She couldn’t risk her heart being broken again, and the feelings she had for Luca were so strong they frightened her. But Rosie knew her too well. Realising Callie wouldn’t change her mind, Rosie had put an arm around Callie’s shoulders and hugged her tight. ‘I know you love him,’ Rosie insisted. ‘And one day you’ll know that too. Just don’t find out when it’s too late.’

It hadn’t ended there, of course. Luca wasn’t the type to meekly turn around and go home. He didn’t know how to take no for an answer. He’d called several times, sent flowers, gifts, notes, hampers of dainty cakes and delicacies from a famous London store. He’d even despatched an elderly statesman called Michel to plead his case. Callie had felt particularly bad about the old man, but Ma Brown had made up for her refusal, treating Michel to a real northern afternoon tea before politely telling him that his Prince had no chance of changing Callie’s mind at the moment. ‘You shouldn’t even have given him that much hope,’ Callie had insisted. ‘I don’t want to be any man’s mistress and Luca’s a prince. He’s hardly going to take things in the direction I…’

As her voice had tailed away, Pa Brown had piped up, ‘The direction you want is love, Callie. Love and respect is the direction you’re entitled to want, when you give your heart to someone special.’

As Ma Brown had sighed with her romantic heart all aflutter, Callie had known it was time to move on. Her relationship with Luca, such as it had been, had started to affect the Browns, so she’d told them what she planned to do, and had packed her bags. And here she was three months later in Blackpool, the jewel of the Fylde coast. It was blustery and cold this close to Christmas, but there was an honest resilience about the place that suited Callie’s mood. And there were the illuminations, she mused with a rueful grin as she glanced out of her top-floor window at the light-bedecked seafront. Known as the greatest free light show on earth, one million bulbs and six miles of lights brought tourists flocking, which meant there were plenty of part-time jobs.

The irony since she’d been here was that Luca was never out of the press. She couldn’t believe she’d spent so much time in blissful ignorance as to his identity when his face stared out of every magazine and newspaper. Even when she went to the hairdresser’s, she couldn’t escape him. She had read every column inch written about him, and knew now that Luca had won his position in Fabrizio thanks to his sheer grit and determination. That, and the love of an adoptive father who had always believed his ‘boy from the gutters of Rome’, as Luca was referred to in the red-tops, was an exceptional man in the making.

Callie had become an expert in press releases and could quote some of them by heart. Luca, who was already a titan in business, was now equally respected in diplomatic circles. A tireless supporter of good causes, he had just completed a world tour of the orphanages he sponsored.

The photos of him were riveting. Luca relaxing, looking hot as hell in snug-fitting jeans, or Luca riding a fierce black stallion, looking like the king of the world. He could be cool and strong on state occasions, when he was easily the most virile and commanding of all the men present. In a nutshell, the new ruler of Fabrizio currently dominated world news, which made him seem further away to Callie, and more unreachable than ever. Much was made in the press of his lonely bachelor status, but Luca clearly had no intention of changing that any time soon. Flowers arrived regularly at the Browns’, a clear indication that he hadn’t given up his search for a mistress yet.

The flowers were still arriving, Rosie had informed Callie only last night, together with the handwritten letters bearing the royal seal, which Rosie had insisted on squirrelling away for Callie. ‘You’ll look at them one day,’ she’d said, not realising that Callie steamed them open and had read every one.

She’d never fit into Luca’s glitzy life, Callie concluded, however much affection and humour he put into his letters. But there were deeper reasons. Her mother had died believing her father’s lies, and Callie had listened to them for most of her life. ‘Tomorrow will be better,’ Callie’s father would promise each day. But it was never better. He always gambled away the money, or drank it, and so Callie would do another shift at the pub. Did she want another man who lied to her, even if not telling her that he was a prince was a lie of omission by Luca to test how genuine she was? She would be the one lying if she couldn’t admit to herself that each time she saw a photograph of Luca, she longed for him with all her heart.

‘The trick is knowing when to say thank you, and get on with things,’ Pa Brown had told her in their last telephone conversation, when Callie had asked what she should do about the flowers. ‘You can send us your thank-you notes, and we’ll pass them on. Don’t you worry, our Callie, Ma Brown’s loving it. She’s like Lady Bountiful, spreading those flowers around the neighbourhood so they do some good. You can thank that Prince Luca properly when you see him in person. I certainly will.’

We won’t be seeing him, Callie had wanted to say, but she didn’t have the heart.

‘Stop beating yourself up, girl,’ Pa Brown had added before they ended their most recent call. ‘You went to work in the lemon groves, which was what you’d dreamed about. You turned that dream into reality, which is more than most of us do.’

She should have kept a grip on reality when it came to Luca, Callie thought with a sigh. But she hadn’t. She had allowed herself to be swept up in the fantasy of a holiday romance. And now there was something else she had to do, something far more important than fretting. Reaching into her tote, she pulled out the paper chemist’s bag. She couldn’t put the test off any longer. While her periods had always been irregular this was a big gap, even for her. Now, she had to know. It was a strange thing, becoming pregnant, Ma Brown had told Callie before the last baby Brown was born. There could be barely any signs for a doctor to detect, but a mother knew. For a couple of weeks now Callie had tried to believe that this was an old wives’ tale, but she couldn’t kid herself any longer. She might not be a mother, or have personal experience of becoming pregnant, but she did know when she wasn’t alone in her body and there was a new, fragile life to protect. She had considered that this feeling might possibly be nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination. There was only one way to find out.

She stared at the blue line unblinking. Not because if she stared long enough it might disappear, but because she was filled with the sort of euphoria that only came very rarely in life. It was a moment to savour before reality kicked in, and she was going to close her eyes and enjoy every moment of it. When she opened them again, her biggest fear was that the kit was faulty. Surely, there had to be a percentage that were?

Leaning forward, she turned on another bar of the ancient electric fire and pulled the cheap throw that usually covered the holes in the sofa around her shoulders as she tried to stop shivering. Part of that was excitement, she supposed, though her hands were frozen. She couldn’t believe it was December next week. Where had the time gone? It only seemed five minutes since she had been basking in sunshine in Italy. That was almost three months ago. Three months of life-shattering consequence, Callie reflected as she stared, and stared again at the blue line on her pregnancy test. One thing was certain. She’d have to see Luca now.

He knew Callie was pregnant since he’d tracked her down to England. He’d been tied up with his enthronement once the dispute with Max was settled. That stiff and formal ceremony was over now, with the celebratory garden party for thousands of citizens of Fabrizio still to come. He loved being amongst his people and looked forward to it, but it was time to concentrate on Callie. They were similar in so many ways, which warned him to tread carefully, or Callie would only back off more determinedly than ever. And hormones would be racing, so the mother of his child, the one woman he could never forget, would have more fire in her than a volcano. Once more into the breach, he thought as the royal jet, piloted by His Serene Highness, Luca Fabrizio, the most frustrated and most determined man on earth, soared high into the air.

Blackpool Illuminations Requires Tour Guides. Callie studied the headline. She was going to need more money soon. Her bank account was bouncing along the bottom, and when the baby arrived… Touching her stomach, she was filled with wonder at the thought; when the baby arrived there would be all sorts of expenses. A wave of regret swept over her, at the knowledge Luca should be part of this. The sooner she told him, the better, but he must understand she didn’t want anything from him.

But the baby might need things.

Might need the father she’d never really had, Callie mused, frowning. But what would that mean? Would Luca be a good father? Instinct said yes, but would he and his royal council control their every move? What about the lack of freedom that being royal would mean for a child? She wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach as, hot on the heels of excited disbelief and the marvel of a new life, came a very real fear of the unknown. What if she was a hopeless mother?

She couldn’t afford to be frightened of anything, Callie concluded with a child on the way. Grabbing her coat and scarf, she quickly put them on. Leaving the bedsit, she locked the door behind her. The baby came before everything. She had to make some money, even save a little, so she could move to somewhere bigger, hopefully somewhere with a garden. Long before that, she had to buy clothes and equipment for the baby.

Remembering not to rattle down the stairs at a rate of knots as she usually did, she walked sensibly, thinking about the baby. She was already feeling protective. She was confident of one thing. She would not be separated from her child. Luca would have to know they were expecting a baby but, Prince or not, billionaire or not, she would not allow him, or his council, to take over. She would raise her child to have values and warmth, and teach it to be kind. The Browns would help. Maybe she’d have to move back to the docks, but not yet. Burying her face in her scarf to protect it from the bitter wind, she prepared to brave the weather to find a job.

And Luca?

He was an Italian male. Of course he’d want to be part of this. But he would also want to found a dynasty, and for that he needed a princess, not Callie from the docks.

She exchanged a cheery hello with the kindly shop owner who had rented Callie the flat and paused to help with a string of tinsel. ‘Thank you, darling,’ the elderly shop owner exclaimed, giving Callie a warm hug. ‘I can’t believe how you’re glowing. You look wonderful. Don’t you get cold outside, now.’

‘I won’t,’ Callie called back over her shoulder as she stepped out into the street.

He saw the car coming from the end of the street. Driven at speed, it was being chased by a police vehicle, sirens blaring.

No!

He wasn’t sure if he shouted, or thought the warning, but he did know he moved. Sprinting like a cheetah, he hurtled down the road. Shoving pedestrians from the path of the car, his sightline fixed on his goal. Time remained frozen, or so it seemed to him, with countless variables of horror possible.

Most people hadn’t even realised there was a problem. Callie was one of them. She was still walking across the street, oblivious to the danger hurtling towards her. Launching himself at her, he slammed her to the ground. There was a thump, a screech of brakes, and for a moment the world went black, then the woman in his arms, the woman he had cushioned from the edge of the pavement with his body, battled to break free.

‘Are you okay?’ she exclaimed with fierce concern, lifting herself up to stare at him.

Winded, he was only capable of a grunt. She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Luca?’

He gulped in a lungful of fumes and dust, mixed with Callie’s warm fragrance, then, as his brain clicked back into gear, he had only one concern, and that was Callie. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’

Colour drained from her face. He could imagine the thoughts bombarding her brain. She was pregnant. Was the baby okay? Could she reel back the clock and walk across the road a few seconds later or sooner? Did she have any pain? She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, making him think she was examining her body, searching for signs of trauma, particularly in her womb. She slowly relaxed, which he took to be a good sign. And then she remembered him. He saw the recognition and surprise in her eyes turn to suspicion and anger, and then back again, when she remembered where they were and how they had got there.

‘You saved me,’ she breathed.

‘Grazie Dio!’ he murmured.

Her gaze hardened again. He was back. The man she had thought she knew had turned out to be someone else entirely. She’d flirted with him, and had had sex with a man she had believed to be an itinerant field worker, who had turned out to be a billionaire prince, and an important figure on the world stage. He could imagine her affront when she’d found out. It wouldn’t have taken her long. Settling back into her normal life, she could hardly avoid seeing his face in the press after his enthronement. In shock, she would be trying to process every piece of information, amongst which had to be what the hell was he doing here?

He followed her gaze as she glanced around to see if anyone else was hurt. He saw the tyre marks on the pavement left by the car as it had mounted the kerb, and realised how kind fate had been. Pockets of survivors were checking each other out. Numbers were being exchanged and arms thrown around complete strangers. This was human nature at its best. From what he could see, everyone was shaken up, but thankfully unharmed. Quite a crowd had gathered. People were calling on their phones. The emergency services would arrive soon. The police were already on the scene. The youth behind the wheel of the speeding car had been captured. Patrol cars had his vehicle boxed in.

‘Luca,’ Callie gritted out, managing to fill that single word with all the bitterness and uncertainty prompted by his supposed deception. When she was calm, she might realise they’d both been escaping their normal lives during their time in the lemon groves. Both had seized the chance to escape and explore a different, looser version of themselves. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Callie was safe. However, she, understandably, took a rather different view. ‘I can’t believe this,’ she said, staring at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

Ignoring her understandable surprise, he concentrated on essentials. ‘Take it easy. Slowly,’ he advised as she struggled to sit up. ‘You might feel dizzy for a while. You’ve had a shock.’

‘To put it mildly,’ she agreed. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked tensely.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘You came down with quite a bang.’

He wasn’t interested in discussing anything but Callie, and was only relieved that he’d reached her in time.

‘Sorry.’ She started to giggle. Hysteria, he guessed. ‘But we must stop meeting like this.’

He couldn’t agree more. They were lying in the road on a bed of grime and oil patches. Hoping that laughter signified her body’s resilience to the blow it had just received, he huffed wryly, and for a moment they weren’t at loggerheads, but just two people caught up in an unexpected incident on a cold and wintry street.

‘Oh, no!’ Callie was staring at the stolen vehicle, which was planted in what appeared to be a dress shop window. ‘My landlady,’ she exclaimed, starting to get up.

‘Let me help you.’

She pushed him away in panic. ‘I have to make sure she’s all right.’

‘You have to get checked out first,’ he argued.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

‘You’re in shock, Callie. You need to go to hospital for a check-up now.’

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, starting to pull his jacket off.

He closed it around her. ‘You’re shivering. You’re in shock,’ he repeated, ‘and until the paramedics get here and check you out, I’m not taking any chances.’

‘So you freeze to death instead?’

‘I don’t think it will come to that,’ he soothed, ‘do you? I’m just glad I got here when I did. I couldn’t get here any sooner.’

‘I heard you’d been busy,’ she admitted.

A paramedic interrupted them. ‘You all right, love?’ he asked, proffering a foil blanket. ‘Let the gentleman have his jacket back, or he’ll catch his death of cold.’

‘I’ve been trying to give it back to him,’ Callie explained, ‘but he won’t take it.’

‘Well, if he’s happy for you to keep it.’ The paramedic shrugged as he arranged the foil blanket over the jacket for extra warmth. ‘Not too many gallant gentlemen left, love,’ he commented. ‘Better hang onto this one.’

Callie hummed and smiled, though Luca wondered if her smile was for the paramedic’s benefit. ‘Was anyone else hurt?’ she asked. ‘The lady in the dress shop?’

‘Had just gone to make herself a cup of tea,’ the paramedic reassured her. ‘She was working in the shop window, she told me, only minutes before the car struck.’

‘What a relief,’ Callie gasped. ‘I was with her. I live over the shop,’ she explained.

‘It’s thanks to the quick thinking of your knight in shining armour that a young mother and her baby were also shoved to safety and saved from injury. He’s a real hero. Aren’t you, sir?’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Luca had acted on instinct. There had been no planning involved. There’d been no time to think. He’d done what was necessary to avert disaster, in his view, and that was all.

‘Accept praise when it’s due, sir. You’re a genuine hero, sir,’ the paramedic assured him. ‘Now, excuse me, miss, but we’d better get you to hospital for a check-up. If the gentleman wants to come too—’

‘He doesn’t want to come,’ Callie said with a glance his way. ‘You obviously know where I live,’ she added, narrowing her eyes, ‘so we’ll speak later.’

Shepherding her to one of the two waiting ambulances, the paramedic steadied her as she climbed inside. ‘What are you doing?’ Callie demanded when he swung in behind her.

‘Collecting my jacket?’ Luca suggested dryly.

The paramedic gave him a broad wink, but had the good sense to appear busy with paperwork when the doors closed and the ambulance set off. Callie disapproved of him accompanying her to the hospital. Too bad. As she had been a member of his staff, he had a duty of care towards her, and with a baby on the horizon that duty had doubled.

‘You saved her, mate,’ the paramedic put in as he settled down.

This wasn’t how he’d pictured his reunion with Callie. He just wanted her to be safe.

‘Have you been spying on me?’ Callie asked, careful not to let their companion hear her conversation.

He shrugged. He wasn’t going to lie. It was a fine line between his security team’s protection service and overstepping the mark. ‘Your welfare and that of our child is my only concern.’

She blenched. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so pale. ‘Are you all right? Pain? You’re not—’

‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’ Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared at him. She reached for his hand. For the first time, she looked vulnerable. This was a very different woman from the Callie he’d met in Italy. This was a woman afraid for her unborn child, and discovering she cared for that child far more than she cared for herself. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘As if I’m special and you’re glad you’re here.’

‘You are special. You’re about to become a mother, the mother of my child. And if I am looking at you, it’s only because you’re covered in grit and filth and need a good wash.’

‘Charming, mate,’ the paramedic piped up, proving that he wasn’t lost in his work after all. ‘Which charm school did you attend?’

‘I didn’t go to school until I was ten,’ Luca admitted wryly. ‘And then it was the school of hard knocks.’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ the paramedic exclaimed, turning to stare at Luca intently. ‘Aren’t you that billionaire bloke who started life in the gutters of Rome and became a prince?’ And when Luca didn’t reply, he added, ‘What are you doing in Blackpool?’

He winked at Callie. ‘I’ve been checking out a new set of gutters, mate.’

‘Don’t you worry,’ the paramedic told Callie. ‘I won’t tell a soul. And you’re going to be okay, love, we’ll make sure of that.’

The atmosphere lightened a little, and Callie didn’t resist when Luca put his arm around her and drew her close.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCA WAS BACK. Callie’s mind was in turmoil, and as for her heart… What a time for him to choose to come back! The best time, she conceded gratefully as the ambulance raced towards the hospital. She knew shock was playing a part in her mixed-up feelings, but on top of the accident and Luca returning to find her, and above all the fear that her recent fall had harmed the baby, her thoughts were spinning around and around.

‘Okay?’

Had she really believed that putting distance between them would lessen her feelings for him? This wasn’t the Amalfi coast where she could make the excuse of her senses being heightened by sunlight and laughter, but a grey northern coastal town in winter, and yet Luca was as compelling as ever.

‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘You’re safe now.’

His arms seemed designed to protect. They had certainly protected Callie when she’d needed him. And now Luca’s embrace was sending a very different kind of shiver spinning down her spine.

‘Look at me,’ he whispered. ‘I said, you’re safe.’

Even with his hair tousled and grazes down one side of his face, Luca looked what he was: a hero, her hero. When they’d first met it had been lust at first sight for Callie, but now it was something much more.

‘Callie?’

Instinctively nursing her still-flat stomach, as if to protect the child inside, she stared into Luca’s eyes.

‘We’re here,’ he explained gently. ‘We’ve arrived at the hospital.’

‘Oh…’

The paramedic stood aside as Luca helped her down from the ambulance. She clutched the foil blanket tighter as the wind whipped around her shoulders. The only part of her that felt warm was her hand in Luca’s. His grip was warm and strong, and it was with reluctance that she broke free from him in the screened-off cubicle when a doctor came to check her over.

‘I want an exhaustive examination. Whatever it costs,’ Luca emphasised.

‘She’ll have the best of care,’ the doctor assured him. ‘We’ll be careful that nothing escapes our notice.’

‘She’s pregnant.’

Luca knew everything. He probably had a drone positioned over the house. But when he thanked the doctor and turned around, she could only feel warm and thankful that he was back.

He was unharmed and impatient to leave, but first he had to make absolutely sure that Callie was okay. He’d wait as long as it took. Mud spattered his clothes. His jeans were ripped. Every bit of exposed skin had taken a battering. The nurses wanted to treat his wounds, but all he cared about was Callie. He sat outside the exam room while she was put through various tests. They were both ecstatic at the outcome. Babies in the womb were surprisingly well protected against trauma, the doctor told them both, and Callie had got off lightly with a sprained ankle and a colourful selection of scrapes and bruises. Apart from the shock, she was fine and could go home. The medical staff had been superb at every stage. He showed his gratitude with a generous donation, which was very well received.

‘And now for your bath,’ he told Callie as he escorted her off the hospital premises.

‘My bath?’ she queried, looking at him in bemusement.

‘Yes.’ They’d cleaned up her minor injuries in the emergency room, but like him she was still covered in dirt from the road, and he had plans. A short drive to the airport would be followed by a flight to his superyacht where Callie could enjoy a rest at sea. Heading south to the sun would be the perfect remedy, allowing her to chill out in privacy while they discussed the future.

‘I can have a bath at home,’ she said. ‘Leave me here. I’ll take a cab. Thanks for all you’ve done—’

‘You will not take a cab,’ he assured her. ‘You can play tough all you like, Callie Smith, but the rules changed when you got pregnant.’

‘It took two for me to get pregnant,’ she reminded him.

‘Which is why I’m prescribing rest for you.’

She gave him a look and then pulled out her phone.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Calling my landlady to check she’s okay, and calling a cab. And guess what,’ she added after a few moments of conversation with someone on the other end of the line. ‘Turns out an unknown fairy godmother has waved a magic wand, so builders and window fitters are already on site at my landlady’s shop, securing the building. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?’

‘Fairy godfather, please.’

She hummed and gave him a look.

‘About that cab,’ he said.

‘Please respect my independence, Luca.’

‘I do,’ he assured her.

‘Anywhere I want to go could easily turn into wherever you plan for me to go, and I need to get used to you being back first.’

He had no answer for that. She was right.

‘Are you going to log my every move?’ she asked with a welcome return of her customary good humour.

‘Only some of them,’ he said straight-faced.

‘My lift is on its way,’ she said. ‘Give me a chance to think things through. It’s all been such a shock. And I don’t just mean the accident. Finding out your true identity, and then the months we’ve spent apart. The gifts you sent. The notes you wrote.’

‘Would it have been easier if I hadn’t contacted you?’

A brief flash of pain in her eyes said it would have been hell. The same went for him.

‘I knew we had to talk when I discovered I was having your baby. I would never leave you in the dark. I just need time to process everything that’s happened today. Just the fact that your security team has been watching me is unnerving. I realise you’re a prince and I’m having your child, but that doesn’t give you the right to put me under surveillance.’

‘Your safety will always be my concern.’

‘Just don’t let it become your obsession.’

‘My security team check out anyone I’m seen with. They report to me, and I can hardly avoid reading what they put in their reports.’

‘I accept that,’ she said, ‘and I thank you for being so honest with me. And most especially for saving my life,’ she added in a softer tone.

‘I don’t want your thanks. I want your time.’ He was impatient for a very good reason. The royal council was pressing him to find a bride. The country was waiting. He needed an heir, and Callie’s pregnancy had set a clock ticking. He needed things settled between them before the ticking stopped.

‘You left me without an explanation, Luca, and now you’re back I’m supposed to snap to attention?’

‘I never misled you.’

‘You never told me you were a prince, either,’ Callie pointed out. ‘You allowed me to believe that you and I were on the same level.’

‘As we are,’ he insisted.

She laughed and shook her head. ‘That’s a fantasy. You’re a prince and a billionaire, and who am I?’

‘The most determined woman I’ve ever met.’

‘Flattery doesn’t wash with me, Luca. We had sex, the deepest intimacy of all, and then you simply turned your back and walked away. That means one thing to me. You’re incapable of feeling.’

‘You disappeared and pitched up here. Is that so different?’

‘I was never going to stay in Italy for ever. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. I always knew I’d come home at some point. And now I intend to study and go on to make a purposeful life. You might be used to women throwing themselves at you, but—’

‘Not in the way that just happened,’ he said dryly.

She couldn’t bear this. She couldn’t bear the mash-up of feelings inside her. Her body was bruised. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She was in love with Luca. Their short, passionate time in Italy had left an indelible brand on her heart, but he was a man she could never have. He knew that as well as she did, surely?

‘There’s fault on both sides,’ Luca insisted. ‘You didn’t reply to my letters. You refused to see me. You rejected my gifts. And, yes, I can see it must have seemed to you that I’d callously walked away, but I hope you can see now that there was a very good reason for my absence. Spend some time in Fabrizio. See the type of life our child will have.’

Fear speared through her at his words. Hormones. She knew she was overreacting, but he would sweep her away if she let him. He would expect the royal child to live with him. Yes, she should get to know his world. Luca was no ordinary man. She could never compete with his wealth, or royal status, but she believed just as strongly in her own values, and in her ability to bring up their child. They had to talk, but not right now. ‘My cab’s here—’ She looked at his hand on her arm.

‘What are you proposing, Callie?’

Luca’s tone had changed, hardened. Their baby wouldn’t benefit from parents at war. ‘Truce,’ she said. ‘I’m proposing a truce. You’re a hero. You saved me. You saved our child’s life. I can never thank you enough for that. If nothing else, I’m sure we can be friends.’

‘Friends?’ Luca frowned.

‘Please? For the sake of our child.’

Her cab rolled up at the kerb. Talking was done. He ground his jaw. Why wouldn’t she take the lift he’d offered? He could call up a diplomatic limousine in minutes. Was this how it was going to be? He couldn’t allow Callie a free hand. The heir to Fabrizio was too precious for that.

‘I can’t believe my new phone is still in one piece,’ she said, glancing at it before putting it away.

‘Give me your number.’ He pulled out his phone.

‘Give me your number,’ she countered, ‘and I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

‘Can I at least know where you’re going,?’

‘I’ll call you,’ she said as she climbed into the cab.

Seething inside, he gave her his number. After the accident and the shock of seeing him, he had to cut her some slack, but seeing Callie again was non-negotiable. He had every intention of keeping track of his unborn child. Grinding his jaw as the cab drove away, he had to remind himself this wasn’t the end of anything, but just the start of their return match.

If her feelings had been mixed up before, they were ready to explode by the time she walked down the steps of the civic building to find Luca waiting outside. Lounging back against a sleek black car, he was staring at her with the lazy confidence that suggested he knew exactly what had happened at her job interview. Of course he knew.

Firming her jaw, she quickened her step towards him. The sooner they got this over with, the better. She’d had her suspicions at the start of her interview. It hadn’t taken her long to realise she was never going to get the job, and the director of tourism was just curious to meet her. Even he’d admitted she was everything they were looking for; gregarious and well informed, she had read up on the history of the famous illuminations from the nineteenth century to the present day.

‘And I know every nook and cranny of the town,’ she’d assured him, explaining she’d visited Blackpool on numerous occasions.

‘In short, you’re perfect for the job,’ he agreed, just before he shuffled awkwardly in his seat and explained that the vacancy was no longer available.

So why see her at all? Callie had wondered, until the director of tourism had added, ‘Don’t look so disappointed. I’m told you have a glittering future ahead of you.’

‘What did it cost you?’ she challenged Luca tensely. She’d come to a halt in front of him, and was determined to get the truth out of him, whatever it took.

‘Cost me?’ He frowned.

‘How much did it cost you to spoil my chances for that job?’ she demanded tight-lipped.

‘Nothing,’ he admitted.

‘You’re lying,’ she said quietly.

‘I think you should calm down,’ Luca remarked as he opened the passenger door of his car. ‘Climb in.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Please.’

She started to walk past him, but he caught hold of her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked. ‘You can’t go back to the shop. It’s all boarded up.’ His voice was still low and even, but it had taken on an edge. ‘Your landlady is spending the night in a very comfortable local hotel while my builders complete their repairs.’

‘Your builders,’ she snapped. ‘That says it all. Your hand in my failure at interview just now. And you say you’re not controlling? What else do you have in store for me, Luca?’

Releasing her arm, he stood back. ‘I provided a faster solution for your landlady than her insurance company could hope to offer, and that is all. As for your job interview, how are you going to work as a tour guide when you’re heavily pregnant? I can’t risk the mother of my child being exposed to people who might exploit her to get at me. Your situation has changed, Callie, whether you like it or not.’

‘It certainly has,’ she agreed. ‘I was free and now I’m not.’ She was furious. ‘How did you get an appointment to meet with the Director of Tourism so fast?’

‘His secretary recognised me.’

‘Of course she did. Since your enthronement you’re all over the news. “The world’s most eligible bachelor”,’ she quoted tensely, ‘who just happens to have a pregnant and discarded mistress on the side.’

‘Very dramatic,’ he said.

‘Dramatic? Since you came into my life, everything’s been dramatic—’ She bit off her angry words, remembering that without Luca she’d probably be dead and so would their unborn child. Hormones again, she realised. Definitely hormones. The next thing she knew there were tears in her eyes. She drove them back. ‘You said it cost you nothing to stand in the way of me getting that job. What did you do, Luca? You must have said something?’

‘I did,’ he confirmed, shielding her as the wind blasted them. ‘I offered reciprocal marketing of our two very different holiday destinations.’

‘There must be more.’

‘There was,’ he confirmed evenly. ‘I told him I wanted you to work for me.’

‘What?’

‘Get in the car.’

She was shivering violently. It was freezing cold. They stared at each other, unblinking. They both knew there could be no walking away this time. Callie had very little money left, and nowhere to stay tonight. Even a simple boarding house at this time of year, when the illuminations were drawing crowds to the resort, cost far more than she could afford to spend.

‘Where will you take me?’ she asked.

‘I thought you had a sense of adventure.’

‘I don’t like surprises.’ But her options were zero. They had to speak at some point. Why not now? Surely two intelligent human beings could come to an amicable agreement?

Seriously?

Yes, because this wasn’t about either of them, but about their child, and with their histories Callie was prepared to bet that both of them would put that child first.

The passenger door closed with a soft clunk, enclosing Callie in a very different world. This was a world that only the super-rich could afford. It wasn’t the spicy warmth of the lemon groves, or the anodyne interior of a five-star hotel, but was so comfortable that it could easily muddle her mind. It was far too tempting to relax and not think of anything but getting to her destination, wherever that might be, safely and warmly. Soft classical music played in the background, while the scent of soft leather assailed her senses. In spite of all the warnings to self, she relaxed and drank it in.

This was the scent of money, she thought as Luca swung into the driver’s seat. He only added to her pleasure with his natural warmth, and the scent of warm clean man, laced with the light, exotic fragrance he always wore. He pressed a button and the engine purred. The sexy black car pulled effortlessly out into the flowing traffic. There were no brash noises, no sharp edges, nothing to alarm. The vehicle was precision engineering at its finest, rather like the workings of Luca’s mind.

He drove as smoothly and as skilfully as he did everything else. They were heading out of town, she noticed, towards the airport. She had some decisions to make, and had better make them fast. She had agreed to get in the car, but had she agreed to travel out of the country? The thought of seeing Luca on his home turf was an exciting prospect, but she was wary of being seduced into giving up her freedom. Even now she knew his true identity, he was still the most brutally handsome and desirable man. Her body ached and longed for him. Her mind told her they needed to talk. Her soul said they were meant to be together. On a far baser level, pregnancy had made her mad for sex, and there was only one answer to that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE ROYAL JET was waiting. On this occasion he would not be the pilot. He escorted Callie on board as if she were already his Princess. He understood her need for freedom. Theirs would be a marriage for practical reasons, tying neither of them down. Its sole purpose would be to provide Fabrizio with the longed-for heir. Would she agree to that proposal? Better this woman he cared for than some unknown princess from Michel’s list, and it would fulfil Callie’s wish for independence.

Callie would certainly agree to sex. Pheromones were threatening to drown him. Electricity wasn’t just snapping, it was threatening to bring down the national grid. Taking her by the wrist, he led her straight to the rear of the plane where his private quarters were located. He had given instructions that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstances, short of an aviation meltdown. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Callie’s needs were flashing like neon signs. They’d talk later. Opening the door to his lavish suite, he ushered her inside.

‘Luca—’

‘Too much talking.’ She was still wearing high heels and her prim interview suit. ‘Keep the shoes on.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Take everything else off.’ She had the best legs on earth, elongated by the high-heeled shoes, and a figure to die for. The height of the heels thrust her hips forward in a way he found irresistible. Caging her with his arms either side of her face, and his fists planted against the door, he brushed his lips against hers for the sheer pleasure of hearing her moan.

‘All my clothes?’ she asked, snatching a breath.

‘Yes.’

Erotic heat clouded her eyes. ‘You haven’t told me where you’re taking me.’

‘You’re going to love the surprise.’

‘Let me decide,’ she insisted. ‘Tell me, then I’ll take my clothes off.’

She was teasing him?

‘You don’t play fair,’ she gasped as he pressed his body against hers.

‘Have you only just noticed?’

Rolling his hips, he rubbed his body against her while she groaned. When he pulled back she moved frantically towards him in an attempt to repeat the contact. The jet engines whined into life right on cue. The aircraft was ready for take-off. Any time soon there would be the most enormous thrust and they’d take to the sky. ‘You’re overdressed,’ he commented.

‘Why couldn’t we talk in Blackpool?’ she asked, playing for time, he guessed.

‘In a hotel, somewhere anonymous and clinical? Wouldn’t you rather be here?’

She gasped as he found her. ‘I can’t.’

‘I think you’ll find you can.’ He dropped a kiss on her shoulder.

‘Who lives like this?’ she said, staring past him at the designer-led living quarters on board his state-of-the-art jet.

‘Stop trying to distract yourself and enjoy.’

‘No. I can’t. I can’t…’

‘You must. I insist.’ Using his tongue to tease his way into her mouth, he deepened the kiss and pressed her back against the door. Every inch of her felt amazing. Had he really thought he knew how much he’d missed her, missed this? He didn’t have a clue. Using his thigh to edge her legs apart, he finished what he’d started. She went quite still and then cried out repeatedly. It was some time before she quietened.

Her eyes remained closed, Her breathing remained hectic. He caressed her breasts while she recovered, teasing nipples that had tightened into prominent buds very lightly with his thumbnail. Gasping out his name, she rested her head against his chest as he stroked and teased her.

‘I think we should take this to bed,’ he said at last.

She gave him a teasing look.‘Shouldn’t we be strapped in?’

‘If that’s what you’d like?’ he offered.

‘You’re bad,’ she said as he took her to see the specially designed bed belt. ‘For the billionaire who has everything, I presume?’

‘For the turbulence,’ he confirmed.

‘Do you expect much turbulence?’

‘I expect a great deal of turbulence.’

‘You’re worse than I thought,’ she said, laughing and relaxed now.

‘Worse than you know.’ Bringing her into his arms, he kissed her. When he let her go she searched his eyes in a way that touched him somewhere deep. Callie didn’t see herself as he saw her. She was a refreshing change. Most women of his acquaintance were overly self-aware, while Callie was oblivious to how attractive she was.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked him softly.

‘I’m anticipating having sex with you.’

‘That’s convenient.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes.’ She bit back a smile. ‘Because I’m doing the same.’

He moved over her. She writhed beneath him. She opened herself to him, inviting him to explore. ‘Now,’ she said with a kitten smile that made him hungrier than ever. She quivered with arousal beneath his hands as he teased her lips apart with his tongue. As he deepened the kiss she melted against him. He pressed her into the bed to rediscover the contours of her body. She was driving him crazy with lust. He was driving them both crazy, with delay. Lifting her on top of him, he caressed her buttocks, stroking them as she sighed and groaned, until finally he clasped them to position her. Reversing positions, he brought her under him.

‘What about your clothes?’ she asked.

He started to undress, but Callie was ahead of him. Ripping off his clothes, she wasn’t satisfied until they were both completely naked. Taking hold of her shoulders, he held her away from him so he could give her a long, hard look. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he ground out.

‘I’ve missed you too.’ She was trembling with excitement and anticipation, asking him with her body to be held, to be kissed, and to be pleasured until she was exhausted. He had no intention of falling short in any way. Throwing her onto her back, he hooked her legs over his shoulders. He took a long, appreciative look, and then dipped his head and feasted while Callie groaned and bucked.

‘The bed straps,’ she gasped out.

‘Are you asking to be restrained?’

‘Sounds as if we’re about to take off,’ she warned, turning her head on the pillows to listen.

He shrugged as the whine of the engines turned into an imperative roar. ‘I think you could be right,’ he agreed dryly. ‘I definitely think you should be held firmly and safely in place.’ Securing her in a few deft moves, he returned to finish what he’d started.

She didn’t last long. ‘Aaaah…’ The cry of pleasure seemed torn from her soul. It escalated into a series of rhythmical, primal sounds deep in her throat. They tormented him. She tormented him. His was a seriously painful state.

‘Ah…ah…’ she gasped out repeatedly, bucking so furiously that even the straps and his hands had a battle to contain her. Once she was capable of speech, she instructed, ‘I need you inside me now,’ with her customary bluntness.

This coincided with the pilot applying full thrust. Pinning Callie’s hands above her head on the bank of soft cushions, he did the same. The sensation as the aircraft soared and they did too, was mind-numbing. Whatever he’d imagined about sex with Callie again was nothing compared to this. She was perfection. Her inner muscles gripped him with a vigour he could never have anticipated, and from there it was a wild, furious ride to satisfaction. By the time the jet had levelled out, Callie had enjoyed at least three noisy climaxes, and was ready for more. When she was done, he turned her on her side. ‘Curl up and let me touch you. I want to watch.’

They were both blunt in bed when it came to what they liked. Callie didn’t just agree to his proposition, she used colourful language to outline exactly what was expected of him. She lifted her thigh to tempt him even more, and angled her hips so he could see everything. He sank deep with a groan of contentment. ‘More,’ she insisted. ‘More.’

He felt as if his climax started at his toes and then flooded his entire body. They were engaged in a very primitive act. He was claiming his mate. She was claiming hers. Where this could lead he had no idea, and he wasn’t in any condition to reason things through sensibly. ‘I only have one complaint,’ he said, bringing her on top of him when they were quiet again.

‘A complaint?’ she queried.

‘You should always wear more clothes so there are more to take off.’

She relaxed and smiled, and, sighing with contentment, she added, ‘Well, that’s your Christmas present sorted out.’

Then she fell silent. He realised it was only a matter of days before Christmas. There had been so much going on he hadn’t even realised. ‘Hey,’ he whispered, seeing Callie frown. ‘We’re definitely going to be together at Christmas.’

‘Are we?’ Her voice was matter of fact. Her stare was deep and long.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, stroking her back to soothe her. ‘You’re not going to be spending Christmas in one room over a shop. I want you to see where I live.’

‘I know where you live.’

‘I mean Fabrizio.’

‘It’s still a palace.’ She sighed as if picturing a world filled with art treasures, flunkeys and hushed decorum, when the truth was a modern palace that was more of a workplace. He had homes across the world where he enjoyed complete privacy, but since his enthronement the palace had become his main residence. He had an apartment there. The palace in Fabrizio was the engine of the dynasty, but his wing was elegant and private. The boy from the gutters had come a long way. ‘Where I live overlooks a lake and gardens, and has every comfort a child could need,’ he reassured Callie.

Better than one room over a shop, he could see her thinking. ‘I’m sure it’s lovely,’ she agreed, tense now. Turning her back on him, she pulled up the covers and pretended to sleep. She did drift off eventually, while he lay at her side with his arms folded behind his head, checking his plan to make sure there’d be no hitches.

When she woke, she sat up and spotted the selection of outfits on a rail immediately. ‘Where did they come from?’

‘The cabin attendant wheeled them in.’

‘While I was asleep? In your arms?’

‘You were well covered up. I asked my private secretary to make sure there were some dresses and accessories on board for you, for when you disembark.’

‘I’ve got my suit.’

He glanced at the creased skirt and jacket, still lying on the floor where she’d dropped them. ‘Well, I have to say, this is another first.’

‘What is?’

‘A woman refusing to look at a rail of clothes.’

‘Chauvinist.’ Grabbing a sheet around her, she swung off the bed. ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t look at them, but I must insist on paying for whatever I choose.’

‘I would expect nothing less of you,’ he assured her, straight-faced.

‘Are you mocking me?’ she demanded.

‘Maybe a little,’ he admitted wryly.

For a few seconds as they stared at each other, he was stunned by how Callie made him feel. He had always guarded his emotions, but with Callie that wasn’t possible. Even with the Prince, his late father, it had been very much a man-to-man relationship. He’d never had any softening influences in his life. Women had always been accessories in the past, a deal that worked well both ways, but Callie was different, special. Tousle-haired and flushed from sleep, she was drowsy-eyed with contentment, but still ready to take him on if she felt it necessary. His groin tightened at the thought. Unfortunately there wasn’t time. They’d be landing soon. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing which outfit you choose.’

She hummed and shot him a warning look.

That was all it took. He’d been inactive long enough. Crossing the cabin, he yanked her close to plant a hard, hot kiss on her tempting mouth. ‘Surprise me,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t I always?’

He kissed her again.

‘What was that for?’ she demanded.

‘A down-payment on later.’

‘I won’t be bribed,’ she warned.

He laughed as he left the cabin. They’d slept together, made love together, and been happy together. Now they had a deal to make that both they and Fabrizio could live with. He was sure of Callie in so many ways. She was full of light and love and passion, and was honest and direct to a fault. That didn’t mean he could predict how she would react to the idea of raising their child in Fabrizio, but for him that outcome was non-negotiable.

She chose a simple outfit of jeans, crisp white shirt and a smart navy-blue blazer, teamed with a pair of mid-heeled boots. She felt comfortable, confident, and happy—until she saw the royal chauffeur, standing by the side of the big royal limousine. The imposing black vehicle flying the crimson and gold flag of Fabrizio on its bonnet, above a shield that displayed Luca’s royal house in images of a lion, a rearing black stallion and a mandolin, was a real punch between the eyes, reminding her that Luca was a royal prince with all the money, power, and influence he could ever wish for, while she couldn’t even get a job.

The chauffeur stood proudly to attention as Luca appeared at the door of the aircraft. He ushered her ahead of him. She felt exposed. The blazer and jeans didn’t seem enough somehow now that Luca had changed into a smart, dark linen suit with a pale blue open-necked shirt. If he’d looked stunning before, he looked like a prince now. Then, she thought, Stand tall, you’ve got as much right as anyone else to fall down the steps of an aircraft.

‘Take my arm,’ Luca directed, making sure she didn’t have another accident.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked, thinking he would not want to be seen with her in a way that could compromise him.

‘Of course, so long as you give it back,’ he said.

Lifting a brow as he stared at her, Luca made her laugh.

Turned out, it wasn’t so hard, this royal business. Luca’s humour helped. She smiled. The chauffeur smiled back. He saluted as he opened the door of the fabulous royal limousine, and she thanked him when he saw her safely inside.

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Luca demanded as the chauffeur closed the door, enclosing them in the heavy silence Callie was fast becoming used to in these luxury vehicles.

‘Not bad at all,’ she admitted. ‘Why are you doing that?’ she asked when he lowered the privacy screen.

‘Because I want you.’

Luca was as blunt as she was. Reaching across the wide expanse of soft cream kidskin, he dragged her onto his lap. ‘You should have chosen a dress.’

‘Luc—’ She was about to protest, but he cut her off with a blistering kiss, and at the same time his hand found her. ‘Oh, no,’ she groaned, yielding to the inevitable as she opened her legs a little more. ‘Oh, no?’ he queried. ‘Does that mean you want me to stop?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispered, rubbing her still-tender lips against his sharp black stubble. ‘I wish I’d chosen a dress too.’

‘I’m sure we can manage,’ Luca said as his fingers worked deftly on the fastening at her waist. ‘It’s not as if we’re stuck for space.’

‘But do we have time?’ she asked as he pulled off her jeans and she pulled off her jacket, this time remembering to fold it neatly.

‘Enough time,’ Luca ground out. ‘Now your thong?’ he suggested, settling back to watch.

‘What about your clothes?’

‘What about my clothes?’ Lowering his zipper, he freed himself, proving he was more than adequately prepared. Reaching out, he brought her onto his lap. ‘Straddle me,’ he insisted, ‘and make it slow.’

She felt deliciously exposed with her legs widely spread, and deliciously excited when Luca’s hand found her. He was right about taking it slowly. She would never grow used to the size of him.

He felt so good. Linking her hands around his neck, she allowed him to guide her carefully down. He decided the pace, while she concentrated on sensation. She cried out with disappointment when his grip tightened on her buttocks, and he lifted her almost off him. Her cries of complaint brought a smile to his face, and he slowly lowered her again. Pressing down on her buttocks made sure that the contact between them was complete. And then he began to move. His hips thrust, sending him deep inside her, and he upped the tempo with each stroke until she could only bury her face in his jacket and wait for release. When it came it was incredible, and he knew just how to prolong it.

‘Better now?’ he asked quietly as she subsided into a series of soft, rhythmical sighs.

Callie lifted her head. ‘Is there time for more?’

With a soft laugh against her mouth, Luca obliged.

CHAPTER NINE

FABRIZIO WAS BEAUTIFUL and quaint, with winding cobbled streets, and tree-filled parks at every turn. People waved and cheered when they saw the royal car, and Luca lowered the window when Callie was dressed again, so he could wave back. His timing, as always, was impeccable. She had caught her first sight of his fabulous palace when they were a few miles away. Surrounded by ancient city walls, the royal palace of Fabrizio sat atop a hill from where the defenders of old could see their enemies coming for miles around. It was the most beautiful building she had ever seen with a grandeur that even his palazzo in Amalfi couldn’t match. Where that had been wedding-cake pretty, this was royal splendour cast in stone, wrought iron and stained glass. When the royal limousine drew up in front of a wide sweep of stone steps, Luca helped her out of the car and then left her in the care of his housekeeper and a maid, while he hurried off into the building.

Having crossed an exquisite hall, full of shields and swords and ancient portraits, Callie was taken up a sweeping staircase to the first level where she was shown into the most beautiful light and airy apartment. Knowing it would be hers for the duration of her stay was just incredible. The delicately decorated French furniture, the Aubusson rugs yielding softly underfoot, the twinkling glass and antique ornaments, the gilded mirrors—what was she doing here?

She thanked the stiffly formal housekeeper and the maid tasked with looking after her. Waiting until the door closed behind them, she headed for the unbelievably beautiful bathroom to take a shower in an enclosure big enough to house an entire rugby team. There was every conceivable type of potion, cream and bath foam, not in their original containers, but in the most exquisite cut glass jars and jugs. Lifting the fragile lid on one of these, she inhaled deeply. And sneezed. She was a little bit allergic to scent. But not to Luca’s scent, Callie reflected wryly as she turned full circle to admire the pink-veined marble walls. What was he doing now? she wondered as she glanced at the internal telephone. She didn’t want him to think her desperate. Let him call her, she decided. Please.

There was no such thing as the hot water running out at the palace. She basked in the luxury of heat and fragrant scent until she felt thoroughly clean, cosy, and fresh again. Then she donned a fluffy robe and wondered what to do about clothes. Pushing her feet into slippers she found ready in the bathroom, that matched the robe, she returned to the bedroom with its panelling and paintings, and floating silk voile, drifting romantically in front of the open window. She suddenly felt incredibly homesick and reached for her phone. What she needed was someone down to earth to confide in, someone she could trust to act as an honest sounding board. Ma Brown answered on the first ring.

‘Ma…’

‘Yes, dear?’

Ma Brown’s concerned tone both bolstered Callie and provided a much-needed wake-up call. She had never been a moaner, and she wasn’t about to start now that she was about to become a mother. ‘I don’t want you worrying about me,’ she stressed, ‘so I’m giving you an update.’

‘Ooh, lovely,’ Ma Brown enthused.

Callie could just picture her dear friend, pausing mid baking, or ironing, or dusting, or stirring a pot of something delicious on the stove, to hear what Callie knew she had to make into a Christmas fairy tale so that Ma Brown would smile and share it with the family, rather than fret about Callie over Christmas. ‘I’m in Fabrizio,’ she began.

‘I knew it!’ Ma Brown exclaimed. ‘You’re with the Prince.’

‘Yes. But there’s something else—’

‘You’re pregnant!’ Ma Brown shrieked before Callie had chance to say a word.

‘I had intended to break it to you gently—’

Ma Brown wasn’t listening. ‘Has he proposed yet?’

‘No,’ Callie admitted.

‘Why ever not?’ Ma Brown demanded good-humouredly. ‘Do you need me to come out there and prompt him? I will, if you like. I can easily catch a flight.’

‘No,’ Callie said again, this time laughing. Ma Brown’s voice had soared at least an octave. She probably didn’t need a phone to be heard in Fabrizio. ‘I promise I can deal with it.’

‘Tell me about his country, then,’ Ma Brown compromised, snatching a noisy breath as she attempted to calm down.

To a casual listener, their conversation might have seemed a little blasé under the circumstances, but Ma Brown could always imply more by her tone than she said in words. The simple phrase, tell me about Fabrizio, for instance, promised that the subject of Callie’s pregnancy had not been forgotten, but merely put on the back burner for now. One thing was certain. Ma Brown would always be on Callie’s side. Missing out the fact that she should have been planning her future, rather than scrambling over Luca, having sex in his jet and then in his car, Callie cut straight to the particulars. ‘Everything in Fabrizio looks as if it has been polished to a flawless sheen. Think Monte Carlo with a touch of Dubai—’

‘Oo-er,’ Ma Brown exclaimed, breathless with excitement. ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

‘Luca’s palace looks like something out of a fairy tale. It’s like Cinderella’s castle with turrets and crenellations. There’s even a drawbridge over the moat.’

‘Imagine the staff needed to look after that,’ Ma Brown breathed in awe.

‘And everyone wears uniform,’ Callie confirmed to add to the picture. ‘Sentries stand guard wearing black velvet tunics braided with gold—’

‘Goodness,’ Ma Brown cut in. ‘Isn’t that all a bit intimidating?’

You have no idea, Callie thought, but what she actually said was, ‘Poof! Not for you and me, Ma.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Ma Brown exulted. ‘I’ve read about the palace and how fabulous it is. The countryside around it is supposed to be equally beautiful. Tell me about that now.’

Hmm. Difficult topic, Callie thought as the silence extended. ‘I was so excited on the drive from the airport to the palace I didn’t take much notice,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘I’ll make sure to check it out next time and let you know.’

Ma Brown hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ve taken quite an interest in your Prince since he rode to your rescue.’

‘He’s not my Prince, Ma.’

Ignoring this, Ma Brown continued, ‘The late Prince has ancestry stretching back to the mists of time.’

Unlike Luca’s, which stretched back to the gutters of Rome. Or her own, Callie reflected, which extended to a row of small, back-to-back houses in the same neighbourly terrace as the Browns, which she wouldn’t exchange for the world. She couldn’t imagine how she’d have got on when she was younger without the wonderful support of the family next door.

‘When are you coming home, our Callie?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Callie admitted.

‘If I were you, I’d stay there as long as you can,’ Ma Brown cheerfully recommended. ‘There’s a grand ball soon in Fabrizio to celebrate Prince Luca’s enthronement. You can’t miss that. I want to hear all about it.’

‘I doubt I’ll be invited,’ Callie confessed. Luca hadn’t mentioned a ball. She couldn’t imagine he’d want her there. Thank goodness. Her stomach flipped at the thought of attending such a grand occasion, and then flipped at the thought of Luca attending the ball with an eager princess on his arm. He was better off with someone like that, she told herself, someone who was used to public occasions. Callie would probably say the wrong thing, or trip over her own feet.

‘Don’t let me down,’ Ma Brown warned. ‘When you said you were going on an adventure, a ball at the Prince’s palace was exactly the sort of thing I had in mind.’

‘I’m not Cinderella,’ Callie reminded her good friend ruefully, ‘and I don’t have a fairy godmother.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘And I want an invitation to the wedding.’

Before Callie had chance to respond, Ma Brown had bustled off the line, no doubt to attend to more motherly duties.

A diet of romance, Ma Brown’s favourite reading matter, had obviously distanced her from reality, Callie concluded, but she was both thrilled and relieved at the way her good friend had taken the news of the pregnancy. Ma Brown was right. Pregnancy was normal. Attending a royal ball was not. But she’d have a go, if she were invited. She owed it to Ma Brown to attend the ball if she got the chance.

Ten minutes later she changed her mind again. I don’t belong here. Burying her head in her arms, Callie took a deep, steadying breath, and then lifted her chin to stare at herself in the ornately gilded dressing-table mirror. Her reflection appeared in what was surely a priceless antique like everything else in her elegant suite of rooms. How on earth had she ended up here?

‘I’ll tell you how,’ Callie’s snarky inner critic butted in. ‘From good girl to a hussy in no time flat, that’s you, Callie Smith!’

Fair play, Callie agreed. The fairy tale wasn’t quite as she’d described it to Ma Brown. She never knew where she stood with Luca, and the worst of it was, a few months ago, she’d known exactly where she was heading. Her short adventure in Italy would be a harmless interlude to look back on with pleasure. She’d go home after a couple of weeks, pick up her studies, go to college, and get a better job. Pregnancy had changed all that. Her priorities had completely switched around. The baby came first. It always would. Every decision Callie made from now on would be in the best interests of her child.

Luca’s child also.

Closing her eyes, she reviewed what she’d seen of Luca’s life to date. From the vast, echoing hallway, with it frescoes on the lofty ceiling, to the foot of a wide sweep of crimson-carpeted stairs, her head hadn’t stop whirring as she gazed around. Did she need more proof that she didn’t belong here? It hardly seemed possible that just a few hours ago she had been planning to make do and mend to raise a child she already loved. In the palace she was surrounded by so much…everything. The five-star hotel she’d thought so lavish was a mere potting shed compared to this. She had to stop short of pinching herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. When a knock came at the door and it opened without Callie saying a word, she sprang up guiltily.

‘Oh, sorry, madam, I—’

‘No—please, come in. And please call me Callie…’

Callie paled as the maid stood back against the wall to allow a team of footmen to wheel several gown rails into the room. These were laden with a sparkling array of full-length ball gowns. Cinderella had nothing on this, Callie concluded, frowning. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she said.

‘No mistake, madam,’ the maid assured her. ‘As it’s rather short notice, His Serene Highness apologises for not sending you an invitation to the ball, but he wants you to know that you are free to choose any of these dresses to wear.’

‘His Serene Highness expects me to attend the ball?’

‘He does, madam.’

Then, His Serene High and Mightiness could have the courtesy to come and tell her that himself, Callie thought, but she thanked the maid, who was the innocent messenger. ‘I hope this hasn’t put you to too much trouble?’

‘None at all, madam. As soon as you’ve made your choice, if you ring this bell…’ the maid indicated a silken tassel hanging on the wall ‘…I’ll return immediately to help you dress.’

‘The ball’s tonight?’ Callie exclaimed in panic.

‘Oh, no, madam. This is just to give you chance to choose your gown and try it on. The Prince has instructed me to tell you that he will be with you by seven o’clock this evening to discuss your choice of gown.’

Hmm, Callie thought. And take it off, if she knew Luca. She couldn’t imagine he cared less what she wore. He was far more interested in removing her clothes.

As soon as the maid had gone, she walked over to the rail to check out the selection of dresses. She’d never seen so many fabulous outfits before. There were gowns in every colour in the rainbow. Some were beaded, some had frills, and some had gauzy ribbon. Nearly all of them had low necks, and/or big slits up the side and plunging backs. She guessed she was ungrateful for thinking all of them a bit over the top. She was frightened to touch them in case she soiled them, but she had to choose one. Picking out an aquamarine gown, her favourite colour, she held it up against her, but it was so heavily beaded it weighed a ton. She had to admit that the scent of fine silk, and the sight of such expert tailoring, did take her breath. There was boning inside the bodice, so no need to wear a bra, and the skirt was such a slender column, she’d have to hop, Callie reflected wryly as she returned it to the rail.

One after the other she discarded the dresses. She couldn’t see herself wearing any of them. They were far too fancy, and didn’t look at all comfortable to wear. Crossing the room, she rang the bell.

‘Yes, madam?’ the maid enquired politely.

‘We’re around the same size. Could you lend me a pair of jeans and a top so I can go shopping?’ There must be a high street in Fabrizio, she reasoned.

‘Go shopping, madam?’ the maid repeated as if Callie had suggested dancing naked in the street. ‘I’ll have a selection of outfits delivered to you within the hour.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

‘Okay, but be sure to give me the—’ Before she had chance to say, ‘receipt, so I can pay the bill,’ the maid had left the room and closed the door.

Callie heaved a sigh. What was she supposed to do now? She tried to ring Luca, but that was like trying to get hold of the Queen of England. She went through half a dozen people and none of them would put her through to him. It was already nine o’clock in the evening. He’d left her alone to stew. Talking of which, she was hungry. Picking up the internal phone, she rang the kitchen to order a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. Hmm. So much for the high life! And so much for the discussions they were supposed to be having. Could matters of State be so much more important than their child?

She drank the tea, ate the sandwiches, then walked around the apartment until she knew every inch of it by heart. It was a gilded cage for the Prince’s pet bird, Callie concluded. It was impersonal. The drawers were empty. There wasn’t even a book to be found. There certainly wasn’t anything as crass as a TV. Opening the glass doors onto her private veranda, she sat down at the wrought-iron table. Listening to the night sounds soothed her. It was a beautiful evening, but where was Luca? She should have known by now that sex meant nothing to him, and he could just walk away, forget it, forget her.

She went back into the room when it began to get chilly. She’d forgotten that the maid had promised to have more clothes delivered, and the room was full of them. She couldn’t deny that rooting through the boxes and carrier bags was fun. Choosing a pair of jeans and a loose sports top, she exchanged her fluffy robe for a casual look that would take her through to bedtime.

More tea?

More tea.

She was just concluding, with a return of good humour, that wading through such a vast selection of clothes was exhausting, when the door opened and Luca walked in.

‘Tea, madam?’

She almost jumped out of her skin. Even with a tray of tea in his hands, he was everything she could desire in a man. Dark, tall, and powerfully built. She would never get used to the breath-stealing sight of him. He’d changed into jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Those arms! His jeans were cinched with a heavy-duty belt that drew attention to his washboard waist. His shoulders were epic and his powerful forearms were tanned and shaded with just the right amount of dark hair.

Those arms belonged around her, she concluded, forgetting her good intentions as he strode across the room. She was supposed to be having a serious discussion with him, not falling victim to his dazzling charm. Be objective, she told herself firmly.

‘Ah, the dresses have arrived,’ he commented as his stare swept over the gown rail. ‘Now for the fashion show.’ Throwing himself down on a finely upholstered chaise longue, he made a gesture she could only presume was supposed to goad her into action.

‘Are you going to model them for me, then?’ she asked. ‘You mentioned a fashion show?’ she prompted when Luca raised a brow.

For a moment he looked bemused and then he laughed. ‘You never change, do you?’

‘I hope not. Hooking up in a car does not a future make, Prince Luca. You and I have some serious talking to do.’

‘Soon,’ he promised. ‘But first a toast,’ he insisted, standing up.

‘In tea?’ she queried.

‘I can send for champagne—’

‘I can’t—’

‘Of course you can’t.’ With a grimace, he reached for her, and, jerking her close, he linked their fingers in a way she found very hard to resist. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered, slanting a grin. ‘I had forgotten why we’re here for the moment.’

‘Don’t,’ she warned with a straight look into his eyes.

‘I was about to propose a toast to the heir to the principality of Fabrizio,’ he explained.

She hummed. ‘In that case, I’ll forgive you.’

When Luca smiled his wicked smile, if it hadn’t been for the sexual tension between them they were close enough in that moment to be just two friends enjoying a moment of trust between themselves.

‘Have you chosen your ball gown yet?’ he asked, turning to glance at the packed gown rail.

‘I want you to feel comfortable. I know you’ll look beautiful. It’s going to be a special night for both of us, because this is my chance to introduce you to my guests.’

‘As what?’ she asked.

Luca appeared to ponder this. ‘My personal assistant? No.’ His lips pressed down as he shook his head. ‘What about Keeper of the Crown Jewels? More accurate?’

‘This is serious,’ Callie warned. ‘Please stop teasing me. If I’m going to attend my first ball with you, I need to know where I stand. That’s the only way I’m going to feel comfortable.’

‘Comfortable was the wrong word. I can see that now,’ Luca admitted. ‘I want you to feel sensational. As the ball is tomorrow evening you’d better choose one of these gowns to make sure you do.’

But that wasn’t what she was here for. She had come to Fabrizio to talk about their baby.

What about the promise she’d made to Ma Brown to send a full report on the ball? Callie glanced at the glamorous gowns twinkling on the rail. She wouldn’t be able to get into any of them in a few months’ time, not that she’d have any use for a ball gown when she went home. ‘I’ll look ridiculous,’ she fretted as she rifled through the rail.

‘You’ll look beautiful,’ Luca argued, making himself comfortable. ‘Let’s make a start.’

‘I’ll change in the dressing room,’ she said, picking out the aquamarine gown that had first caught her eye. ‘And I’m not coming out if I look a freak.’

Safe behind the door to her dressing room, Callie stared at herself in the mirror and grimaced. The gown that had looked so pretty on the rail did fit well, but, apart from being so heavy, it was too tight. It pushed her breasts up and her confidence down. But that wasn’t what really worried her. When she emerged from the dressing room, Luca agreed. ‘You look like a mermaid,’ he said as she wiggled her way across the room.

‘Thank goodness that’s a no.’

‘Unless you plan to hop into position at my side?’ he suggested.

‘I could drift towards you in this,’ she suggested when she had changed into the next dress, a coral number with long chiffon floats flying from each shoulder.

‘Nah. You’ll only get caught in the door.’

‘You know me too well.’

‘I’m getting there,’ Luca admitted dryly as Callie chose another dress.

‘This one?’ she asked uncertainly, blowing fronds of fern-like decoration away from her face.

‘You look like a market garden,’ Luca dismissed as she performed a twirl.

True enough, the big floral pattern wasn’t her best look.

‘What about this one?’ he suggested, selecting a plain, intricately beaded flesh-coloured gown.

‘Yes. That’s nice,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll try it on.’

With the dressing-room door closed between them again, Callie stared at her reflection in amazement. She actually looked quite good. Smoothing the delicate fabric over her frame, she had to admit that the gown Luca had chosen was both elegant and sexy. She might have known he’d have exquisite taste. The shade of the fabric matched her skin tone so exactly it was almost possible to imagine she was naked. Naked and shimmering with a slit up the side of the dress that almost reached her waist. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Luca said nothing at all. His face was completely expressionless. This was Luca at his most dangerous, she thought. ‘No,’ she warned when he stood up and prowled towards her.

‘Why not?’ he husked. ‘It’s not as if I can make you pregnant.’

‘Luca!’

He swallowed her protests in a kiss, and it wasn’t just a kiss but a whole-body experience that made her hunger for him eclipse everything. His hands were warm on her body. He knew every slope and curve. The gown was so sheer, so delicate, that his touch transmitted effortlessly through it as if they were both naked. Memories bombarded her, memories of pleasure, memories of trust.

‘I want you,’ he growled. ‘Right here. Right now. I can’t wait.’

‘Neither can I,’ she assured him fiercely.

Luca had already found the slit at the side of the dress. She only had to move slightly for his fingers to brush dangerously close to where she needed him. Her breath caught as he handled her with the skill that promised so much more. She was wearing nothing beneath the gown but a flimsy thong. Held together with not much more than a hope and a prayer, the thong stood no chance against Luca’s assault. Ripping it off, he cast it aside and rammed her up against the wall. Breath shot out of her as his hand found her. With teasing strokes, he tested her readiness. That didn’t take long. Freeing himself, he nudged his thigh between her legs and, dipping at the knees, he took her in one long, firm thrust. From there it was a wild, noisy ride to their goal, but even when she shrieked as she lost control he kept on plunging until her throat was hoarse, and her body was alight with pleasure.

‘I can’t feel you,’ she complained when she was able to talk again.

‘What?’ Luca demanded, frowning into her eyes.

‘Not that—’ She groaned with pleasure as he flexed inside her. ‘I mean your naked body,’ she explained. Tugging at his shirt, she made her meaning clear. ‘I want to feel all of you hot and hard against me.’ They ripped his clothes off between them and tossed them aside. ‘Better!’ she approved as his heat rasped against her body.

‘Still not enough for you,’ he guessed. Taking hold of her hands, he pinned them above her head, and with his other hand locked around the front of her dress, he ripped it from her body.

The beautiful gown was shredded, ruined. Disaster. But she didn’t care. All that mattered was this. Rubbing her breasts against him tormented her nipples until they were taut little buds, composed entirely of sensation. They had a direct link to her core, and her hips worked involuntarily in her desperation for more contact. She couldn’t remain still. She couldn’t remain quiet. She was noisy and demanding. Scrambling up him, she locked her legs around his waist.

‘More?’ he suggested in the deep, gravelly voice with its flavour of Italy that could always make her tingle.

‘Are you purposely withholding pleasure from me?’ she demanded.

Luca laughed softly. ‘As if I’d dare.’

‘Don’t make me wait,’ she warned.

His answer was to nuzzle her neck with his sharp black stubble until she was a seething mass of lust. ‘I just asked, did you want more?’ he reminded her.

He surely didn’t expect an answer to that question.

CHAPTER TEN

THE BALL GOWN was ruined. No point worrying about that now. She’d skip the ball. That was the last thought in Callie’s head as Luca made rational thought impossible. He was making love to her. This wasn’t just sex. They were natural together. This was so good, so right. This was fierce. When the moment came, she was wild with fear of the precipice she was facing, but Luca husked soothing words of reassurance and encouragement in his own language as he kissed her over the edge.

‘Greedy,’ he whispered when she quietened.

‘You make me greedy,’ she complained, smiling with contentment as she crashed against his chest.

Finding the nook just below his shoulder blade, she snuggled close as he carried her to the bed. A deep sense of this being right filled her completely. They belonged together. He laid her down gently on the bed and came to lie with her. When he brought her into his arms, her breathing slowed and her limbs grew weightless. Problems nagged at the back of her mind, but they could wait until tomorrow. Right now she could do nothing more than close her eyes and drift away.

He held Callie in his arms all night, watching her sleep. As he did so, he went over what lay ahead of her. It wouldn’t be an easy transition for her from the freedom of a normal life to all the restrictions of royalty, but if anyone could cope, she could. And he’d be with her every step of the way. He was confident that Callie would adapt to royal life as quickly as he had. He’d rebelled at first, but then he’d been very young. Callie was clever and kind, and her sense of humour would ease her through the sticky patches. Her common sense would get her through the rest. Not only would he have the longed-for heir, but a new, fresh style of Princess who would care for the land he had come to love as deeply as he did.

Careful not to wake her, he left Callie at dawn. Breakfast meetings were the norm for him. With her hair tousled, and her face still flushed with sleep, she had never looked more desirable, but he was a slave to duty. Both his royal council and his business concerns called him this morning. And then there was the ball tonight. He grimaced as he glanced at the gown he’d ruined. But there were plenty more on the rail. Callie would have to forget about being understated for one night, and just choose one of them.

Callie woke slowly, cautiously. At first she didn’t know where she was. Her head was ploughed into a stack of pillows scented with lavender and sunshine. The bed was firmer than she was used to, the duvet softer…and her body felt very well used. With a groan of contentment, she turned her face, relishing the touch of the smooth white cotton, and inhaled deeply. Slowly, it all came back to her. Reaching out a hand, she searched for Luca, and stilled when she discovered the bed at her side was empty. Sitting up, she could see the indentation of his head on the pillow, so she hadn’t imagined last night. She really was at the palace. The palace! In the most sumptuous suite of rooms imaginable. Incredible. But it was very quiet. She stilled and knew at once she was alone.

Hearing a knock on the door, she hastily pulled up the sheet to cover her naked body. ‘Yes?’ It had to be the maid. Spotting what remained of the glamorous gown still strewn on the floor, she called out, ‘Just a minute,’ and leapt out of bed. Gossip would spread like wildfire in the palace. Why fan the flames? Gathering up the dress, she brought it back to the bed, and stuffed it out of sight beneath the bedding. ‘Come in,’ she called out brightly.

The maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. There was a single red rose in a silver vase on the tray. ‘From His Serene Highness,’ the maid explained as she set down the tray. ‘He has suggested that you rest this morning in preparation for the ball.’

Recover, he meant, Callie thought dryly, showing nothing of her thoughts on the passionate night before on her face. ‘Thank you for bringing my breakfast,’ she said warmly, ‘but I will be getting up.’

‘Oh, and this arrived by courier,’ the maid said as she handed Callie a package she had lodged under her arm.

‘For me?’ Callie exclaimed with surprise.

She bolted breakfast as the maid opened the curtains and threw the windows wide. She couldn’t wait to open the unexpected parcel, but wanted to do so when she was alone.

‘Anything else I can get for you?’ the maid asked politely before she left.

‘Nothing. Thank you.’

Turning over the large padded envelope, Callie smiled broadly. The bold handwriting gave the game away, as did the UK stamp. ‘Ma Brown,’ she breathed. ‘What have you done now?’

What Ma had done was to go shopping at a popular high street store, where she’d found the perfect dress for Callie to wear at the ball. Callie gasped with pleasure as she held it up and saw her reflection. The dress was simple and elegant. At last, a dress she could feel comfortable in. She’d take a shower and then she’d try it on.

The fine flesh-coloured fabric slithered over Callie’s naked body like a second skin. It couldn’t have fitted her better. The design was uncannily similar to the gown that lay ruined on the bed. The popular brand was a known fast follower that could have catwalk looks available for sale within hours. She would go to the ball, Callie concluded with amusement as she slipped on a pair of high-heeled shoes, and in a dress worth infinitely more to her than all those expensive gowns on the rail put together. Picking up her phone to thank her best of friends, she smiled with pleasure. ‘Oh, Ma Brown, you’ve really come up trumps this time,’ she murmured as she waited for the call to connect.

It was the evening of the grand ball and all his guests had arrived, but where was Callie? He wasn’t accustomed to waiting. Tonight of all nights, a late arrival was unacceptable. Her maid had been given strict instructions regarding timing. Royals were expected to be punctual. Everything ran to clockwork precision. There was no leeway for a few minutes either way. With impatience, he turned his attention from the entrance where Callie was due to appear, to the guests who were waiting to meet him.

Laughter and excitement filled the room. There was a huge sense of expectation. No one had refused his invitation to the ball. There were rumours of an announcement tonight and interest was running high. He felt a great sense of love and gratitude for the restoration his father, the late Prince, had carried out so efficiently on the glorious old building, and this did soothe him to some small degree. The ballroom was a glittering spectacle with huge chandeliers glittering like diamond globes beneath a domed sky of priceless frescoes. An orchestra of the most talented Viennese musicians set the mood. Waiters in black dress trousers and short white jackets, braided with the royal colours, carried solid gold trays bearing a selection of canapés prepared by the world’s top chefs. There were two champagne fountains, as well as tall crystal flutes of vintage champagne being offered to guests at priceless French ormolu tables that lined the room. Nearly every country was represented. Splendidly dressed royals dripping in family jewels mingled with diplomats and top-ranking soldiers. No one was too proud to sup at his table. Guessing that tonight would be talked about for years had winkled out even the most standoffish royal. Everyone was keen to see how the boy from the gutters had transformed into a prince.

So where was she?

There was no excuse for this. He had instructed his private secretary to commission the finest hairdressers and beauticians to assist Callie with her preparations for tonight. He couldn’t believe her personal maid had failed to get her out on time. Did Callie hope to slip in unnoticed? Was she coming at all?

He gave a grim shrug. Callie Smith was the one woman he could never predict. Summoning a footman, he sent a message to Signorina Smith’s maid to ask how much longer she would be. The man hurried off, leaving Luca to seethe in silence.

Well, this was it, Callie concluded as two liveried footmen swung the gilded double doors wide. She had politely asked the hairdressers and make-up artists to leave, preferring to get ready by herself, and now there was just this small hurdle of a ballroom packed with the great and good to overcome. She inhaled sharply at the scene of dazzling glamour, and was almost blinded by the flash of diamonds and the light flaring from countless chandeliers. Trust me to forget my tiara tonight, she mused wryly. Lifting her chin, she walked forward.

‘Signorina Callista Smith.’

Callie glanced around as the disembodied voice of a famous television personality announced her arrival at the ball.

‘That’s you, miss,’ one of the friendly footmen who’d opened the door for her prompted in an exaggerated stage whisper.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered back.

In the time it had taken Callie to say this, every head had turned her way. Even the orchestra paused, leaving her at the top of a dizzying flight of marble steps. The solid mass of people below her looked impenetrable, and not exactly welcoming. Her throat dried. She clenched her hands into fists at her side. She could only pray the stiletto heels fairy was on her side tonight.

‘Wait…’

Every head swivelled to stare at Luca. His familiar voice stripped the tension from her shoulders. Her gaze fixed on him as the crowd parted to let him through. Whatever remained of her breath flew from her lungs as he strode forward. In full dress uniform, with his sash of office drawing attention to his powerful chest, this was the man she remembered, the man her body rejoiced in, the man she laughed with, slept with, and enjoyed challenging, as Luca relished tormenting her, and right now he looked good enough to eat.

‘May I?’ he asked, offering his arm as he prepared to lead her down the stairs.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled—graciously, she hoped.

If a pin had dropped, it would most certainly have deafened her. It appeared that no one breathed, let alone spoke, as Luca steered her safely down the steps.

‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered.

‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ she whispered back. ‘The hairdresser made me look like a freak, so I had to redo everything. And don’t even ask about the make-up.’

‘But you aren’t wearing any.’

‘Exactly,’ she murmured. ‘If you’d seen me with false eyelashes and red-apple cheeks you’d have run a mile.’

‘Would I?’ he murmured, sounding unconvinced.

They’d reached the dance floor by this time. Everyone was staring, but just being with Luca reassured her, and she didn’t hesitate when he asked her to dance.

Callie came into his arms like a rather lovely boat floating effortlessly into its mooring. The intimacy between them must have been obvious to everyone, and the shocked silence that had first greeted her changed at once to a buzz of interest.

‘I can just imagine what they’re saying,’ she breathed.

‘Do you care?’ he replied.

‘No,’ she assured him. ‘I just wish I was barefoot. You’re in serious danger of being stabbed.’

‘Not a chance,’ he whispered.

He laughed. She relaxed, and the glamorous ball continued.

‘Where did you get the beautiful dress?’ he asked. ‘You look stunning. It’s so elegant. I didn’t see it on the rail. It’s so delightfully simple, compared to other women’s more elaborate gowns.’

‘That’s the secret of its allure,’ she assured him with a cheeky smile. ‘Ma Brown,’ she whispered discreetly.

‘Well, wherever it came from, you couldn’t look lovelier.’

‘Well, thank you, kind sir…you don’t look too bad yourself.’

She was in his arms, and, as far as he was concerned, that was all that mattered. ‘Do you find it warm?’ he asked.

‘Is this another of your euphemisms, which could be interpreted as let’s find a tree?’

‘Callie Smith,’ he scolded softly with his mouth very close to her ear.

‘You left me alone, abandoned me, and now you can’t get enough of me?’

‘Correct.’

‘Don’t you have any scruples?’

‘Hardly any,’ he confessed. ‘I’m planning to take you to see a magical gazebo.’

‘Filled with your etchings?’ she guessed.

He laughed, and was further amused by the fact that people dancing close to them were hanging on their every word. Leading Callie off the dance floor, he led her through towering glass doors onto a veranda stretching the entire length of the palace. Even this late in the year, plants illuminated by blazing torches still flowered profusely, and their fragrance filled the air. He wouldn’t usually notice such things, but being with Callie always heightened his senses. A pathway led through the formal lawn gardens, and where they ended there was a lake with an island at its heart. Lights glinted on the island, and a rowing boat was moored alongside the small wooden pier that stretched out into the lake.

‘Really?’ Callie queried with a pointed glance at her dress and shoes.

‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ he demanded.

Slipping off her shoes, she accepted his steadying hand as she gingerly boarded the boat. ‘I used to escape the palace by rowing out to the island,’ he explained when he joined her. He’d left his uniform jacket and white bow tie on the shore with his highly polished shoes. Freeing a few buttons at the neck of his shirt, he sat across from her and reached for the oars.

‘I can understand why you might want to be alone here,’ Callie agreed as she trailed her fingertips in the water. ‘It’s so beautiful and peaceful on the lake.’

‘I didn’t notice that when I was a youth,’ he admitted, plunging the oars into the mirror-smooth water. ‘It took time for me to trust the Prince, my father, and sometimes I was just angry for no reason and just wanted to get away. Now I think I was afraid of disappointing him. I’d only known rare acts of kindness on the streets, and the fact that he never gave up on me seemed to be just one more reason for me to put him to the test.’

‘That’s only natural.’

‘I was lucky.’ He put his back into the stroke and as he saw Callie’s appreciative gaze focus on his bunching muscles his impatience to reach the opposite shore grew.

‘How did you live,’ she asked, ‘back before the Prince found you?’

He shrugged and dipped the oars again. ‘I cleaned around the market stalls in return for spoiled fruit, stale bread, and mouldy cheese. I had some good feeds,’ he remembered, ‘but the stallholders had many calls on their time, and I was proud even then. I might have been filthy and wearing rags but I vowed that I would never sink any lower and would always strive to rise. My bathroom was the Tiber, and my bedroom better than most people could boast.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

‘I slept at the Coliseum,’ he explained. ‘I came to know a member of the security staff, and he turned a blind eye when I curled up in the shadows of that great arena.’

‘You make it sound romantic,’ Callie said with a frown, ‘but you must have been freezing in winter.’

‘It was certainly a challenge,’ he recalled, ‘but atmospheric too. I used to sleep in Caesar’s box, rather than in the dungeons where the poor victims used to languish as they awaited their terrible fate. I had nothing in the material sense,’ he added as their small craft sliced through the water, ‘except when it came to determination. I had plenty of that, as well as the freedom to change my condition, which I did.’

‘What age were you when this was happening?’

‘I was grubbing around the streets from the age of four. That was when my mother died,’ he explained. ‘The whorehouse where she worked kicked me out. In fairness, no one could spare the time to take care of me. I think now that I was better off by myself. The clientele at the brothel weren’t too choosy who they abused, if you take my meaning.’

‘I do. But how did you manage on your own on the streets at the age of four?’

‘There were other, older children on the streets. They showed me how to stay alive.’

‘How did you end up at the Coliseum?’

‘A lot of homeless children slept there. I saw the tourist posters advertising this colossal building, and I wanted to see it for myself. Getting inside was easy. I just joined the queue of tourists and walked straight in. I soon learned that if I pretended to be a lost child, concerned attendants would feed me. It worked for quite a while until they began to recognise me, but by then they had developed a soft spot for the boy from the gutters and so they turned a blind eye. The people who worked at the Coliseum didn’t have much money, either, and so they saved food from the trash for me to root through. There were plenty of half-eaten burgers and hot dogs for supper. I don’t remember being hungry. The Coliseum was like a hotel for me, growing up, so don’t feel sorry for me. I did fine. The Coliseum was both my home and my school. I saw everything you can imagine during my time there. I learned about sex, violence, thieving, unkindness, and great acts of kindness too.’

‘Can you remember your parents?’ she asked as he took a deep pull on the oars.

‘Nothing I care to bring to mind,’ he admitted dryly. ‘My mother was always harassed and often sick. I think now that she was what we would call depressed. No surprise there, but a child can’t understand why a person behaves the way they do. A child only knows that it’s hungry, or frightened, and I knew I had to fend for myself long before she died.’

‘And your father? Did you ever meet him?’

‘He turned up one night,’ Luca recollected. He huffed a short, humourless laugh. ‘My mother’s colleagues pelted him with rotten fruit and worse. I remember him standing on the street, shouting up at her open window. I remember his angry voice, and his soiled white shirt and the glint of his gold earrings.’

‘He doesn’t sound very nice.’

He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

‘And now you’re a prince with a country to rule and a palace to live in. It must all seem quite incredible, even now?’

‘No. It seems right,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If there was luck involved, it was that I met the Prince, the best of men, and a man who changed my life. Though even that wasn’t as simple as it sounds,’ he admitted. ‘After everything I’d seen, I wasn’t easily impressed—not even by the Prince of Fabrizio.’

‘How did he persuade you to leave the streets and come to live with him?’

‘He was a patient man,’ Luca said, thinking back. ‘From the moment he found me stealing food from the bins and the buffet table during his royal visit to the Coliseum, he was determined to save me. He told me this years later.’

‘What did he do about your stealing?’ Callie asked as he shipped the oars.

‘He asked his attendant to find me a shopping bag, so I didn’t have to hide my hoard down my shirt.’

‘Cool,’ she said, smiling.

‘Oh, he was that,’ he agreed as he sprang onto the shore to moor up.

She placed her hands in his as he helped her onto the dock. He wanted to take her right there. Throw her down on the cool wood and make love to her until she didn’t have the strength to stand, but delay was its own reward.

It was just a small island. She could probably walk around it in ten minutes, Callie thought. The grass was cool and green, and felt lush and thick beneath her naked feet. Picking up the hem of her dress, she stared around. The clustering trees were lit with thousands of tiny lights in celebration of the ball. And then she saw the gazebo he’d talked about ahead of them. ‘Is this where you used to come and sulk?’ she asked.

‘How did you guess?’

As he swung around to face her, the pulsing heat of desire surged through her. ‘I’ve been a teenager too.’

He laughed and held out his hands. She felt so safe and warm when he took hold of her, and Luca’s kisses were always a drugging seduction. They seemed even more so here on this magical island. Just occasionally, fairy tales did come true. She wanted to believe it so badly as he kissed her again. She’d spent so much of her life bottling up emotion, but Luca knew how to set it free, and as his kisses grew more heated she knew she would take any and every chance to hold onto happiness.

He swung her off her feet and strode quickly to the entrance to the gazebo. Lowering her down, he steadied her and then pressed her back against the wooden structure. Caging her with his arms either side of her face, he brushed his lips against her mouth and smiled. It was the most romantic moment, but if she’d written the fairy tale herself she could never have predicted what he’d say next. ‘Marry me, Callie. Marry me and become my Princess.’

At first she thought she was imagining it, and it was all a dream, until Luca repeated softly, ‘Marry me, Callie.’

She stared into his eyes, struggling to compute what he’d said. Embarrassed, uncertain, she resorted to teasing him. ‘Shouldn’t you be down on your knees? Or, one of them, at least?’

‘I need an answer,’ Luca said, refusing to respond to her lighter tone. ‘Just a straight yes or no will do. Or are you playing for time?’

‘No,’ she argued. ‘I’m playing for the highest of stakes of all. I’m playing for my heart, and for the future of our child.’

‘Then, marriage makes perfect sense,’ he insisted.

‘Does it?’ She frowned.

‘You know it does.’

Smiling into her eyes, he kissed her again, and because she wanted him she was foolish enough to believe in the fairy tale for now.

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