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

‘As you did.’

‘I was younger. I picked up the language more easily—and I had friends like your father to help me. Bella was just lost. I tried to make things easier on her, but she never settled. Now, when I look back, I think she must have been depressed after Zarios was born. But in those days we didn’t really understand or talk about such things. I tried to make it work. We went back to Italy, but still she was unhappy.’

‘So Zarios went to boarding school…?’

‘And I came back here.’ He nodded at the question in her voice. ‘Here was the only place I could make the money to pay the fees and support my family, too…the lucky country!’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It didn’t feel like it. I went back to Italy as often as I could, opened a business there, but here was where the money was being made. Of course I hoped his mother might be around more for him…’

It was unfathomable to Emma. She thought of her own happy childhood, of her parents who, even with their faults, would have moved heaven and earth for her, and wondered, just as her parents had over the years, how Bella could have excluded herself so totally from her son’s life.

‘More than anything I want Zarios to be happy. Always the hurt is there—always with Zarios anger. I want my son to find the love that has been missing for most of his life. You do love my son, Emma?’

Rocco’s question was direct, his eyes so searching that she shouldn’t be able to answer it. But, looking down to the photo she held in her hands, Emma knew she wanted to see Zarios happy, too. Wanted back what they had found that morning. Wanted the man she knew was there beneath the pomp and scorn. Wanted the merry dark eyes that danced in this photograph, that she was sure she had glimpsed that wonderful morning, to dance for her again.

There was no doubt she was indebted to him, and not just financially—he had saved her life when she’d nearly drowned, had held her hand when she’d identified her parents, had sat and offered quiet support that first long, lonely night.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, but not for the reason Rocco thought. Emma realised as she nodded, as she told Rocco what he wanted to hear, that she was actually speaking the truth.

She loved him.

She hated him, but somehow had loved him over the years—had loved him that one wonderful morning together—and despite all that had been said, all that was, all that could never be, still somehow she loved him.

‘Then you will both be okay—love is what will see you through,’ Rocco said wisely. ‘Love is what was missing in my marriage. Not,’ he added sadly, ‘on my side. For my son to have asked for your hand in marriage, he must love you, too.’

Oh, she wished that this were true, that Zarios did love her, did want to rescue her from the hell of these past weeks.

Wished that it were that simple.

‘You’re quiet,’ Zarios noted when finally they were alone and could let down the charade as the bedroom door closed behind them.

‘I’m tired.’ Emma sat at the dressing table and wearily attempted to remove her make-up while Zarios unashamedly undressed behind her. Tired was an understatement. She had been running on adrenaline since her meeting with Zarios, had been sitting on tenterhooks all evening as her head throbbed with a low-grade headache, and her mind was too tired to even attempt to make sense of what she had agreed to. ‘Actually, I’ve got a headache.’

‘Isn’t it a bit early in our relationship to be making such excuses?’ It was said so tongue in cheek and with such irony that as she caught his glance in the mirror Emma couldn’t help but smile. But it faded. ‘What will your dad say when he finds out?’

‘What can he say?’ Zarios shrugged.

Instead of the naked figure she had been sure she’d be sleeping with, he had pulled on a pair of black pyjama bottoms—only they did nothing to detract from his beauty. Even in the dimmed bedroom light she could see his reflection in the mirror, his body muscled and gleaming, the pants making him look like some martial arts expert, and just as toned and dangerous. Leaving on her panties, she pulled on a T-shirt and climbed into bed beside him. Turning off the light and rolling on her side, she braced herself for his onslaught—it never came. His breathing settled, and his body just relaxed beside hers as Emma lay twitching and restless, positive that the second she lowered her guard, allowed the heavy drape of sleep that was closing in to wrap around her, then Zarios would surely pounce.

Only he didn’t.

The usual shot of adrenaline that had been her bedmate since her parents’ death catapulted her awake at 4:00 a.m., but instead of sitting bolt upright and grappling for the light switch, having to relieve the nightmare all over again as she gulped down a drink of water, an arm heavy with sleep wrapped around her, sliding her across the bed in one easy movement. At first Emma was so stunned she didn’t resist, just lay in his arms, her heart pounding. She was infinitely grateful for the contact, felt the fear seeping out of her as his solid presence soothed.

‘Go back to sleep, Emma.’ His low voice growled a welcome order as an idle hand stroked her hair, and she wished she could obey—wished she could close her eyes and desist. Only an unchecked niggle was scratching, reminding her of his distaste when she’d walked into his office—of his first assumption as to the reason she was there.

Wandering back into the forest, tentatively she searched for that arrow he had aimed.

She had definitely had her period on the day of the funeral.

Her body was spooned into his—Zarios’s heavy arm across her waist, his hand loosely dusting her stomach, like any normal couple in bed. She struggled for a second against his unwitting affection, but deep in slumber, too comfortable to move, Zarios gripped her tighter. Emma stumbled deeper into the wilderness, locating the arrow and staring at a segment of her shattered heart. Tentatively she probed it.

She’d had her period that day, but it was six…She screwed her eyes tightly closed as she did the maths. No, it was eight weeks now since she’d had another.

‘Dorme…’ Zarios mumbled, pulling her closer towards him. ‘Sleep now.’

It was easier to ignore it, easier to cover the remains with leaves rather than probe it with a stick, to just lie in his arms and do as he told her.

Even the lazy tumescence of his manhood that stirred as he dreamed didn’t startle Emma. Instead the naturalness of it soothed.

Feeling him asleep but alive beside her, it was easy, too easy, to forget what had brought them to this point.

Maybe she was more like Jake than she realised. Because it was easier to forget about her problems than try to solve them—easier to just close her eyes and drift back to sleep, with Zarios there beside her…

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_3663b88f-c52d-54e3-a594-c6b24f168ad5)

DESPITE her mother’s theories, even in her art student days wild parties hadn’t been a regular feature on Emma’s agenda.

But waking in Zarios’s arms Emma got a taste of how it must feel to wake after a walk on the wild side. Every sin she had ever committed, and surely a few more to come, seemed to be laughing from the sidelines as she awoke in a strange bed, in the arms of the man she’d sworn away from.

‘What time is it?’ Zarios grumbled as she stirred awake beside him.

‘Are we still engaged?’ Emma winced, trying to do up the pieces of the jigsaw without the aid of a picture.

‘We are.’ His hot breath on the back of her neck somehow told her he was smiling. ‘And, yes, you do owe me an obscene amount of money.’

As she rolled over to face him she hoped, actually prayed, for a whiff of bad breath, for something horrible and nasty to greet her—but her prayers went unanswered. It was Zarios! Just as gorgeous as yesterday, except he seemed to have grown a beard overnight, morning shadow dense on his strong jaw. The other change in him was that for once he was smiling—this was a far more relaxed Zarios than the one she was used to seeing.

And though sensibly she knew she should recoil, there was this lovely mesh of legs…Such a mesh that Emma didn’t know where hers were, though she had a vague idea where his were, because she could feel the bit in the middle as it sort of rose to her groin to say good morning.

‘Morning.’ His eyes smiled their greeting just inches from hers. And she’d forgotten to notice his mouth—such a lovely soft, full lipped mouth—that was somehow on the same pillow…

‘Morning.’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Zarios said.

‘You snore!’ Emma countered.

‘I don’t.’

He didn’t.

‘Why are beds so much more comfortable in the morning?’ Emma asked, after a few lovely moments of just lying there. ‘I mean, you spend half the night trying to get comfortable, but in the morning, when it’s time to get up…’

‘Don’t get up, then,’ Zarios said, nudging the duvet up around them with his shoulder and then promptly closing his eyes.

There was a strange fuzzy logic going on in her head—she could feel his tumescent manhood between them, felt so warm and safe lying with him. It would be so easy to accept the lazy kiss she knew was coming, so easy not to deny the fierce attraction that was undoubtedly between them—but at what cost?

The pain of losing him to Miranda had her rolling on her back. Emma stared at the ceiling, hearing the grumble of his sleepy protest. How much easier it would be for him, how much more pleasant it would make it for him, to have her on tap these two weeks. And how appalling for her it would be when it ended—to face once more the obstacle course of getting over him!

It was with that in mind that she hauled herself out of bed and headed for the shower.