Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock

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      She was aware that her lifestyle made many assume that she enjoyed casual sex, but she never strung men along and if some chose to boast of a non-existent conquest she lost no sleep over it or over those who couldn’t handle the fact she wasn’t into one-night stands.

      The only question had been whether to tell Mark or not. In the end she’d decided she would—no relationship should start with secrets. The perfect opportunity had arisen earlier that night when he’d been scrolling through his phone and discovered a recent interview with his uncle, the CEO of the firm where they both worked.

      ‘This is what I have to deal with, but no point offending the guy. Look, listen to this...no, this is the part where he rambles on about family values,’ he sneered. ‘And this is the bit when he says one-night stands are—’

      ‘Mark?’ He looked up, seeming to notice for the first time that she was standing there wearing the matching silk bra and pants she had spent so long choosing.

      I’m competing with a smartphone.

      ‘Actually, Mark.’ Her self-esteem was pretty robust and the fact that he wasn’t jumping on her was what made Mark different, special, someone who liked her for more than her looks, she reminded herself as she resisted the urge to throw his phone out of the window. ‘I’m not really into one-night stands.’

      ‘Sweet, but I wouldn’t judge you, darling, and this isn’t one night—we’re here for the whole weekend.’

      ‘I mean I’ve never had a one-night stand.’

      He put down his phone. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend?’

      ‘Would I be here with you if I had a boyfriend?’

      He pushed his glasses back on his nose, a habit that she’d always found endearing but that left her cold at that moment. ‘I don’t know, you know, I don’t like the idea of stepping on some guy’s toes... What does he do?’

      ‘There is no guy. I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re my first.’

      ‘One weekend doesn’t mean we’re engaged, sweetheart.’

      ‘You’re my first lover!’

      He laughed at the joke, then, when she didn’t join in, stopped. ‘Not seriously.’

      ‘Totally seriously.’

      ‘But you can’t be...you’re a...you’ve always been...’

      ‘Easy?’ She read the expression in his eyes before he looked away and the cold ache in her chest intensified.

      At her sides her fingers flexed as she fought the urge to bring her arms up in a protective gesture across her chest. It was pride that kept her chin at a challenging angle while inside she had shrivelled up in shame and embarrassment.

      ‘No. It’s just, you have to admit, you came on to me like—and Ben in Marketing...he says...’

      ‘What does Ben in Marketing say?’

      It finally dawned on him that she was serious and he looked sick. ‘Oh, God, Lara, I don’t do virgins, hell, no! It’s such a responsibility. This is just a bit of fun, and when Carol had to cancel I couldn’t get a refund.’

      ‘Carol?’

      ‘You wouldn’t know her. She doesn’t have to work, she’s my, my...well, we’re not actually engaged yet but—’

      ‘So when your fiancée couldn’t make it you looked around for someone who everyone knows is an easy lay...’

      His sulky pout vanished as he cut across her. ‘Well, you weren’t supposed to be a bloody virgin!’

      ‘So sorry, my mistake, but that’s the problem with small print, isn’t it?’ she commiserated. ‘How about if I go away, get some scalps under my belt, and come back? Will that change things?’

      ‘We-e-ell...’

      Unbelievable! He was actually considering it! She edged her voice with ice as she ground out, ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you if you came with a seat on the board.’

      If they were handing out awards for sheer blind stupidity, I, Lara reflected grimly, would have had a clean sweep.

      ‘Oh, and I doubt that rich, doesn’t-have-to-work Carol would have been impressed by the room.’ A cheater and a cheapskate, Lara, you know how to pick them!

      * * *

      As she went over the scene yet again, wincing at her exit line, her tears dried and she realised that, not only did she have no idea where she was, but when she had made her dramatic exit she had taken nothing with her, not her purse, her phone...nothing.

      She paused and looked around her, debating her options. She could continue to wander aimlessly feeling sorry for herself, try to retrace her steps or find someone and ask for directions back to the hotel. Option three made the most sense, but the street was deserted.

      A moment later, she wished the street had stayed deserted as out of a side alley a group of young men appeared, five or six of them making enough noise for twenty. There was some good-natured banter and a bit of pushing and shoving. It was hard to tell the mood and quite honestly she didn’t fancy staying around to find out.

      Alcohol, testosterone, peer pressure—not a good combination.

      Hampered by her high spiky heels, she only got a few steps before one of the group spotted her.

      Lara didn’t react to him or to the cacophony of calls and whistles, and instead just carried on walking. Do not show fear! Do not show fear!

      Any minute now someone would walk round that corner, a figure of authority, someone who would say... ‘Ouch!’

      By some miracle she managed not to fall when one of her heels came clear off, but her recovery was not elegant and the pain that shot through her ankle was agonising. She registered the laughter behind and this time it was her temper, not her heel, that snapped.

      In the grip of a red-mist moment, she slipped off the broken shoe and, with it in her hand, turned to face the group. Her chest lifted in tune with her angry inhalations, her green eyes flashing contempt and fury, her mind clear of the fear she had felt just moments ago. The group of young men became the focus of all her accumulated anger and the humiliation seething inside her.

      She was so focused on them that the fact that someone had come around the corner didn’t register on Lara’s radar.

      Her red hair swirled around her like a silken curtain as she allowed her eyes to travel disdainfully over their collective heads.

      Wrath swelled inside her, mingled with self-disgust. She had been running from them, and they were just kids... Well, teenagers really. Although this did not entirely remove the potential threat they represented, Lara was too mad to care. This was the real Lara, the one who stood her ground, not the one who’d run off crying because her dream lover had turned out to be a totally useless louse.

      She took several limping steps towards them. Nobody was laughing now, the victim СКАЧАТЬ