In the Italian's Bed: Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘Of course.’

She fled to the kitchen, embarrassed yet exhilarated, as jumpy as a cat. She trembled as she pulled open the door of the fridge. It wasn’t just that he was sexy—though he was, Emma thought, gulping icy air from the fridge—it was that smile, that lazy smile that just made the world pause, and the intensity of his eyes when they held hers.

And instinctively he had known how much her father’s dismissal of her work, however unwitting, had hurt her.

Never had a man read her more skilfully.

It was as if he’d versed himself in her thoughts—like an extension to her mind.

He got it!

Got the crazy make-up of her family and the fact that they could make her smile, make her laugh, even as they drove her round the bend.

‘Need a hand?’

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hot palm was between her legs, running lazily the length of her thigh, and she rested her head on the freezer door to steady herself, simultaneously revelling in his touch and tensing at the thought of anyone walking in.

‘Zarios…’ She turned to face him, to warn him off with a brittle expression, to tell him this was neither the time nor the place—but he’d beaten her to it. He was smiling down at her, pulling out cartons from the fridge and feigning such utter innocence that if her thighs hadn’t been on fire she’d have sworn she’d imagined the whole thing.

Zarios had been confused by her parents’ reaction to the painting—had been confused by the gift as well. From the way Lydia had spoken, and from the information he had gleaned over the years, he had assumed Emma’s hobby had simply been indulged by Lydia and Eric.

But with one glance he’d seen her talent.

A real talent that should be nurtured and applauded, not tossed amongst a pile.

He was lying, and they both knew it, when he tried to say the right thing. ‘I know how it looked out there,’ Zarios said as he picked up some jugs from the bench, ‘but they are proud of you!’

‘I think you’re talking to the wrong sibling.’ She snipped open the juice and poured it into the jugs. ‘They’re proud of the one with the real job and the fancy car—the one who gives them grandchildren…’

‘You’re incredibly talented.’

‘That doesn’t always sell paintings!’ She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the financial pressure Jake had heaped on her fledgling business was just too much to bear, and unwittingly, just as her mother did when stressed, Emma put down the carton and massaged her temples for a moment.

‘Business not going too well?’

‘Just a few money worries at the moment; it will pick up,’ she said, doing just that to the juice. But his hands caught hers, making them let go of their contents.

‘Tomorrow?’ Zarios said, stunned by the comfort saying that single word gave him.

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed, taking a deep breath, and then another rapid one, as he deeply kissed the nape of her neck. He kissed it so hard that when she fled to the loo moments later she could see the bruise he had left, which had her pulling out her ponytail and arranging her hair to hide it. She had been angry with him at the time, and yet was surprisingly grateful later.

Grateful, because when everyone had gone, when the chopper had long since lifted into the sky, and her parents had read through the cards for the hundredth time and all that was left was the tidying up, it was almost impossible to fathom what had taken place.

She checked her phone for the hundredth time, willing a text to appear, telling herself it didn’t matter that there wasn’t one—he was at a christening; he’d told her he’d speak to her tomorrow…

Later, having undressed for bed, exhausted, she brushed her teeth, and then, lifting her hair, saw again the smudge of purple bruise. She shivered, running her fingers over the only tangible evidence of what had taken place. Emma clutched the memory of it to her like a hot water bottle as she curled up in the same bed Zarios had slept in last night, slid under the weighty warmth of a duvet that still held his scent and let memories caress her exhausted body.

Remembered the bliss of being in his arms.

Willed sleep to come so that soon she could greet the morning.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_eb7c26d8-c071-532d-8125-03132d313437)

‘COME with us, darling,’ Lydia said again, as Emma read the morning paper. ‘We’re going to drive along the coast and have a long, lazy lunch…’

‘I really can’t, Mum.’ Emma shook her head. ‘I haven’t been at the gallery since Thursday.’

‘Surely one more day off won’t hurt?’ Lydia pushed.

Oh, but it would. A buyer had been in twice the previous week, looking at her paintings, and Emma knew that a closed sign on her shop too many days in a row would soon temper his interest. And then there was Jake to deal with.

She jumped with nervous excitement as her phone shrilled, dismayed and panicked to find that it was just Jake—wanting to know her answer, wanting to know what time she was getting away so that they could talk.

‘I need to be at the shop.’ Emma filled her cup from the pot and added sugar. ‘Anyway…’ she smiled as her dad walked in and pinched Lydia’s bottom ‘…you two don’t need me sitting in the back seat spoiling your fun. You’ve got a trip to Rome to plan!’

‘I can’t believe Rocco was so generous!’ Lydia clapped her hands in delight at the prospect. ‘I just can’t believe he did that.’

‘I can…’ Eric slathered butter on his toast. ‘He’s always wanted to show us his home town, and I think, with his retirement coming up and everything…’ he paused for a pensive moment ‘…he’s probably wondering how he’ll fill his time.’

‘I know how I’d fill it!’ Lydia shook her head in wonder. ‘He should be off on a cruise. The women would be lining up for him, with his pots of mon-ey…and he’s a nice man, too,’ Lydia added, more as an afterthought.

‘You’re incorrigible!’ Eric laughed, but his expression was serious. ‘He’s a very nice man who happens to still be in love with his ex-wife.’

‘Then he needs to get over her!’ Lydia said, unmoved. ‘You know I love you, Eric, but I wouldn’t wait thirty years.’

‘She wouldn’t wait thirty minutes!’ Eric winked at his daughter, peeling off the front and sports pages of the newspaper, as he always did. ‘Have you had a good weekend, darling?’

‘I had a great time,’ Emma enthused. ‘Everyone did!’

‘You’re sure?’ Lydia checked. ‘Did you hear anyone actually say that?’

‘Everyone had a ball…’ Emma’s voice trailed off as she turned the page, everything freezing as Zarios’s face suddenly stared out at her from the newspaper. He wasn’t alone.

He was with Miranda.

The regular Monday gossip column, telling what had happened with the rich and famous over the weekend, was causing more than a vague stir of interest as Emma read the words below the photo.

The rumoured break-up of drop-dead gorgeous financier Zarios D’Amilo and his model girlfriend Miranda Deloware (pictured yesterday, wearing an exquisite Kovlosky gown), seems to be just that: a rumour.

Appearing together at the christening of Elizabeth Hamilton (see p42) there was no mistaking that they were very much a couple. A source close to the pair hinted there might soon be the sound of wedding bells.

Sorry, gals…it would appear Zarios is very much spoken for.

‘I thought as much…’ Lydia tutted as she peered over Emma’s shoulder. ‘Any woman would be mad to get involved with him.’

‘That’s not what you said on Saturday.’

‘I hadn’t spoken properly to Rocco then. Zarios is the incorrigible one! He’s got the morals of an alley cat, ap-parently; he’ll say anything to get a woman into bed. Really, I can see why Rocco’s hesitant to just hand everything over to him.’ She stabbed at his image in the paper. ‘Zarios doesn’t know the meaning of the word commitment.’