Mistress To a Latin Lover: The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress / The Italian's Pregnant Mistress / The Italian's Mistress

She craved a family.

With a self-conscious gesture, Cass touched her hair, the strands still a natural amber-gold, a color close to the shade of her eyes. In the early days of her advertising career, she’d learned to play up her rich coloring by wearing black—in leather, satin, silk—or exotic animal prints like faux leopard spots and tiger stripes. She’d always worn incredibly high heels, her boots and shoes dangerous, toes pointed, aggressively sexual. She’d liked keeping people at arm’s length, had enjoyed keeping others guessing.

Now looking at her bare face and loose wavy hair she knew she’d changed. Permanently changed. She’d finally understood—internalized—that success was a cold bedfellow, that achievement meant nothing if she wasn’t happy, and she’d never be happy if she couldn’t love and be loved in return.

Her mouth lifted in a wry, dry smile. Maybe her broken heart had actually done her some good.

Cass combed her hair, pinning it up in a sophisticated twist at the back of her head, applied her usual makeup and fastened delicate diamond drop earrings to her earlobes before slipping her feet into pale satin heels and heading downstairs.

The house was virtually empty but the butler appeared in the hall and indicated that Emilio was already outside in the car waiting.

Emilio was indeed in the car, sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

She saw his face as she approached, his gray eyes narrowing, his expression critical. “What’s wrong?” she asked, opening the passenger door.

“I don’t like it,” he said flatly, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel as he looked her up and down.

His petulant tone irritated her. “Don’t like what?”

He gestured to her dress, and then her face and hair. “Any of it. You look…too smart, too together. It’s not right. Not the image I’m looking for.”

“That’s too bad,” she said calmly, barely able to keep her irritation from showing. This man was telling her about image? Image is what she did for a living, image paid her bills. But beyond the issue of expertise, no one told her how to dress, or how to behave. Not Maximos. And certainly not Emilio Sobato. “You can change if you want to. I’m certainly not. I like this dress. I like the way I look—”

“And so does Maximos.” Emilio’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I heard him compliment you. When I was in the bathroom. And it’s obvious you’re dressed to please him.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the truth—that Maximos knew the truth about her and Emilio’s charade. She pictured Emilio’s outrage and for a split second she enjoyed the idea of popping his horrible little bubble, but she knew now wasn’t the time. Not before the Guiliano reception—it was Adriana’s special night after all. For another, she didn’t want to be alone with Emilio once he did know.

He would be angry. And outraged. And God knew what he’d do then.

“I brought this dress because I like it,” she answered coolly, shrugging off his criticism, “and I’m not changing. So can we just go, please?”

But Emilio wasn’t starting the car. Instead he climbed out the driver’s side and walked around the sports car. “We have an agreement,” he said softly, his tone almost menacing. “This weekend you’re with me.”

Cass didn’t like his tone, or the way he attempted to intimidate her. She put her finger against his chest and firmly pushed him back. “Don’t crowd me, Emilio, and don’t attempt to threaten me. I know why I came here this weekend. But I don’t know why you did. Do you?”

“I love weddings.”

“Especially ones where you’re not wanted.”

He smiled. “Call me cruel, but I like to watch people suffer.”

“You mean, Maximos suffer.”

“Yes. I get a great deal of pleasure from watching my good friend Max Guiliano suffer.” He leaned past her, reached into the car and pulled out a white shopping bag and thrust it at her. “Now please go and change so I can continue enjoying myself this weekend.”

Cass opened the tiny glossy shopping bag, pushed aside the lavender tissue paper and stared at a puddle of white. “What is this? Lingerie?”

“No. It’s a dress.”

“This isn’t a dress.” She lifted the fabric and the puddle of white became a long sheer lace and chiffon gown. “This is a slip. Something one wears under a dress, not instead of a dress.”

“Whatever. The point is, I want you to wear it.”

“No.”

“You made a deal with me—”

“I might as well have made a deal with the devil.” She shook her head, feeling the gold diamond earrings swing from her earlobes. “Because this isn’t what I agreed to do. I said I’d pretend to be your fiancée, I even agreed to a phony wedding in Padua, but I’m not going to humiliate Maximos, his sister and the entire Guiliano family by showing up at Adriana’s rehearsal dinner in a slip.”

“You will.” Emilio chucked her under the chin. “Because I know something you don’t want Maximos to know.”

“I’ve no secrets.”

“Are you sure?” Emilio took the paper bag and shoved it at her middle and leaned close to her, very close. He dropped his voice, cocked his head and mouthed in her ear, “I know about the baby, Cass.”

Cass stiffened, froze. Everything within her froze. Her eyes, her mouth, her heart, her brain…

“I know all about it,” Emilio continued. “I know what you did—”

“You know nothing!”

“Temper, temper,” he taunted. “But unfortunately for you, I do know. I know you terminated the pregnancy. And trust me, if Maximos discovers what you did to his child…he’ll never forgive you.”

She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move. It was impossible. How did he know about the baby? How could he know?

And what did he know?

She’d told no one. No one knew. She hadn’t even taken time off of work when she’d been morning sick. Hadn’t even missed work the day after she’d checked out of the hospital.

“Are you blackmailing me?” she asked, voice unnaturally low. She hadn’t terminated her pregnancy. It’d been a horrible miscarriage and yes, there had been procedures done afterward, but everything done had been necessary. She’d been hemorrhaging so badly…not that any of that was Emilio’s business. It was nothing to do with him. It was her secret shame.

“Yes, actually, I am.” He smiled. “You’re going to finish this weekend, finish what we started—”

“He knows why you’re here, Emilio. He knows you’re interested in his new design—”

“Fine, he can’t prove anything. And he’ll still hate seeing us together. He’ll hate it every time you touch me. He’ll be sick each time you turn your adoring eyes on me, insane with jealousy every time I get a fondle, or sneak a kiss. And you better make it believable or I’ll tell him everything.”

Cass took her courage, her last bit of strength and wrapped it around her like a much needed cloak. She’d been hurt by Maximos, gravely hurt. Emilio could do nothing to her. “Then tell him. I’m not scared.”

He chuckled. “Good girl. You keep pretending to be tough, and I’ll pretend I’m a sensitive guy.” His laugh faded and his face hardened. “But it’s just a shame, you know, about the pregnancy, because the one thing Maximos has always wanted was to be a father. He’s longed for a child.” His gaze met hers and held. “Especially a daughter.” Emilio hesitated. “In fact, you’d find this is quite a sensitive subject with him. Explosive, even.”

There was more to this than Emilio was telling her and Cass wanted to know the facts…the truth…but she doubted she’d get the truth from Emilio. Anything he said had to be twisted. Just the way he twisted the facts about her miscarriage. “How did you find out?”

“I was at the hospital that night you checked yourself in. The woman I was dating happened to be your doctor.” He looked at her, his expression speculative. “I have a copy of your medical records. It says plain as can be—D & C.”

She felt the ground shift beneath her. Cass reached out, touched the car door to steady herself. “Go to hell.”

“That’s all it says, Cass. Nothing else. Maximos will think you ordered the D & C.”