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

‘You wanted to see me.’ There was no small talk, no apology for the delay. He curtly gestured for her to take a seat, his face utterly unreadable as tentatively she nodded.

‘Regarding?’

He certainly wasn’t making this easy.

‘It’s difficult…’ Emma attempted.

‘Then let me help you. We slept together approximately two months ago, and now you urgently need to meet with me—I can hazard a guess—’

‘No!’ Emma interrupted. The arrow he had shot had missed its mark, skimming over her shoulder surely to be forgotten. Except a sound resonated, a small hollow summons to tell her that somewhere it had hit a mark. But with a determined, irritated shake of her head she ignored it. ‘I got my period on the day of my parents’ funeral. That’s not the reason I called.’ Only now did he frown. Only now did he seem curious as to why she might be here. ‘I wanted to see you about the release of my parents’ money.’

‘Of course!’ Zarios gave a tight smile. ‘Silly me for assuming otherwise!’

Emma ran a dry tongue over even dryer lips, embarrassment stinging every pore at his implication, regretfully acknowledging that after their bitter parting he was right to think as he did. She forced herself to continue. ‘The house has been sold…’

‘I believe so.’

‘The thing is…’ She blew a breath skywards, but her fringe barely moved; it was plastered to her moist forehead. ‘I need access to my share of the funds now.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes. Today.’ She watched his eyebrows rise just a fraction.

‘Can I ask why you need money so quickly?’

‘No.’ She choked the single word out, then, clearing her throat, said it more firmly. ‘No. I’d rather not say, but as soon as the sale of the house goes through I will repay the money. It would just be a loan until then.’

‘I can see that a lot of work has gone into your proposal!’

His sarcasm, though merited, wasn’t exactly helping. ‘I realise it can’t look good, me just walking in and asking for money. But I have my reasons, and the in-heritance—’

‘I can’t help you.’ He interrupted her, shaking his head.

‘Please.’ She hated that she was reduced to begging, but she had no choice. ‘Zarios, please. You’re the only person who has access to that type of funds…’

‘Not quite…’ He flashed a mirthless smile. ‘Have you ever heard of banks?’ Tears pricked her eyes as he savagely continued. ‘If you are so convinced it is just a short-term loan, that in two weeks you can repay, then you should have no trouble securing a bridging loan. Of course a bank would want to know where the money was going, why a twenty-five-year-old woman needs access to such a sum of money at such short notice. Have you even tried the banks?’

She tried to say no, but the word wouldn’t come out. Emma settled instead for a tiny shake of her head.

‘Then am I right in assuming that is because you couldn’t suitably answer their questions?’

Oh, how he must be enjoying this, Emma thought, the tears in her eyes drying as she stared at him across the desk, their mutual contempt meeting in the middle.

‘Anyway,’ he continued when she didn’t answer, still holding her stare, ‘even if I wanted to help you I could not.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘There’s a potential conflict of interest. I have excused myself from the board in regard to the execution of your parents’ estate.’

‘That’s not what I’m asking…’

‘I know that!’ Zarios sneered. ‘You are playing on the fact that we once slept together.’

‘No!’ Emma quivered. ‘I’m pleading to you as a friend of the family.’

‘Did you approach my father with your request?’ Zarios snapped his very good point out. ‘Of course not!’

‘You know,’ he continued bitterly, ‘he said I was overreacting when I removed myself from having any dealings with your parents’estate.’ He stood up, clearly ending the meeting. ‘Clearly I was right to follow my instincts.’

‘You’ll get it back…’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks unchecked now. The thought of telling Jake, the thought of him telling Beth, the horrible reality of it all was unbearably close now, making her desperate. But her tears didn’t move him. If anything they just compounded his disdain. ‘I’ll sign anything—the day the exchange happens you’ll get the money back…’

‘If you’ll excuse me?’ He glanced at his watch and pressed a button on his phone. ‘I’m running behind schedule.’ He smiled as his secretary opened the door, gave her a sort of wide-eyed look that acknowledged yet another tearful woman was leaving the building, and asked if she could please arrange that it was done quietly. ‘Could you show Ms Hayes to the lift, please?’

As easily as that he dismissed her. His cold eyes made it clear there would be no further discussion, and the distaste was evident in the set of his face as he held open the door.

And who could blame him for what he must be thinking? Emma thought as the lift plummeted down-wards—her parents were barely cold in their grave and she wanted her hands on their money with no questions asked, if that could possibly be arranged!

Clearly it couldn’t.

She could feel her phone vibrating in her bag, knew it was Jake. For a tiny second she was almost relieved. Relieved that she couldn’t help him. Relieved that the problem was no longer hers…

But then she heard his voice.

‘Maybe Beth will understand…’ Emma attempted as she told him the hard news. ‘Maybe it’s time to come clean, Jake—time to lay it all out in the open…’

‘It’s not what Beth’s going to say that I’m worried about.’ She could hear the fear in her brother’s voice. ‘Oh, God, what have I done, Em?’ He was sobbing so hard he could barely get the words out. ‘I can’t face this! What are they going to do to me? What if they turn on her, on the kids? I’d be better off out of it.’

She was half walking, half running through the foyer. She could hear the desperation in his voice and knew she had to get to him and turned, wild-eyed, when the receptionist stopped her in her tracks.

‘Mr D’Amilo will see you shortly.’

Emma briefly closed her eyes in frustration before answering. ‘I’ve already seen Mr D’Amilo.’ She gave a very short smile, tempted to add, for all the good it did. She turned her attention back to her brother, but the receptionist persisted.

‘I’m aware of that. Mr D’Amilo has asked that you wait while he considers your proposal further. If you’d like to take a seat, he’ll send for you in due course.’

She had no idea what game Zarios was playing—the only thing she was certain of was that it was a game! How she would have loved to ignore the command to sit. But Jake was still on the line—or rather, Emma thought, Jake was at the very end of the line.

‘Just hold on, Jake.’ She put the phone back up to her ear. ‘Just calm down. I’ll sort out something. I’ll talk to Zarios again.’

Despite the air-conditioning, sweat was beading on his forehead. Zarios felt as if his tie was choking him. Loosening it, he pulled open the top button of his shirt and tried to kick his stalled brain into some sort of action.

In an attempt to make things work with Miranda he’d relegated all the good things that he had shared with Emma to the recesses of his mind—had ignored the wonderful parts in the short life of their relationship and focussed solely on the death of it. He had replayed Emma’s finishing words like a mantra every time his mind had wandered in that dangerous direction. But even if he had discounted their lovemaking, their passion, long before today, no matter how he had tried he hadn’t been able to discount her.

And now she was back.

From the second he’d heard she was trying to make contact Zarios had been bracing himself—warning himself not to overreact, that if she did tell him she was pregnant he would stay calm…Except she wasn’t pregnant.

Opening his office drawer for the first time that week, he pulled out the hand-sized teddy bear, with its smiling face and black button eyes, and managed to really look at it. He remembered the mawkish pride that had filled him when he’d paid for the little thing and had looked forward to sharing it with Miranda.

Just the thought of Miranda made his jaw clench.

The slurs, the innuendoes, the filth that had been reported this past week should have had him shouting the truth from the rooftops—should have propelled him to come out of his corner fighting. Except in the abyss of his pain the slights of the press had barely touched the sides.