Hot-Blooded Italians. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ his hands from her as if she were contaminated, he walked over to the other side of the room, his back facing her. People always said that Vincenzo’s face was cold and shuttered—that working out what was going on in his head from the look on his face was like trying to read a stone. But Emma was better at it than most because inevitably she knew him better than most. And so he needed to be careful.

      Staring out of the window, he studied the dark gleam of the river and the dazzling light from the buildings which were reflected on its rippling surface. Logic told him that she was lying—and it also told him that if she persisted with her crazy contention, then he should simply refer it to his lawyers. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for fabulously wealthy men to be hit on by women with spurious paternity claims—but these days, fortunately, there were the means to establish the truth in such a claim.

      He should tell her to get out, to leave the suite now—and he should put someone onto it in the morning. Why, he need not even meet with her again—it could all be put into the hands of his legal experts.

      But some instinct made Vincenzo loath to follow the voice of logic, and he wasn’t sure why. Was it because the sex between them had been utter dynamite—just as it always had been with her—and because it had awoken in him a hunger which she could feed better than any other woman he’d ever known?

      Wouldn’t it make more sense to play along with her—so that he could enjoy her body for a little longer before they parted for good? And wouldn’t renewed evidence of her duplicity finally help dull the magic enchantment which she could still wield over his senses?

      Turning back, he surprised her chewing on her bottom lip like a nervous exam candidate. So was she? Nervous? Of course she was.

      ‘Where do you live?’ he questioned.

      ‘In a little place called Boisdale—it’s about an hour’s drive from here.’

      ‘Did you drive here today?’

      Still smarting from all the hurt and the pain—some of it admittedly self-inflicted—Emma wondered which planet he lived on, until she remembered. He lived on Planet Wealth. Vincenzo had guessed that she was short of money, but someone in his position would have no idea of what that would mean in real terms. To him, being broke might mean having a pretty standard car—the idea that she would simply be unable to pay for road tax and petrol, let alone the cost of learning to drive would be completely outside his experience.

      ‘No, I still haven’t got my licence,’ she said, just wanting to get away now and as soon as possible. Away from that disdainful face and the memory of what she had just allowed to happen. All she wanted was to wash away every trace of him… She would blow the expense, put the immersion heater on and submerge herself in a hot, deep bath the minute she got home. ‘No, I came by train.’

      Emma glanced at her watch, but the blur of numbers danced in front of her eyes. At least she had told him, and he hadn’t believed her. Gino would be unable to blame her and maybe this was all for the best. She need never see him again and she would manage. Somehow. ‘And, in fact, I ought to be getting back.’

      ‘Yes. I will order a car,’ said Vincenzo, sliding his mobile phone from his pocket.

      ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll be fine.’

      ‘You think perhaps I am playing the gentleman, cara?’ he taunted silkily, with a shake of his dark head. ‘Alas, you are mistaken. You may be content to take public transport, but I can assure you that I am not.’

      Emma stared at him, putting her confusion and interpretation of mixed messages down to the fact that she was tired and aching. ‘I don’t quite understand what you mean.’

      ‘Don’t you?’ questioned Vincenzo softly. ‘Haven’t you realised that I shall be coming with you?’

      Emma stared at him in alarm. ‘What, you mean—to Boisdale? But I thought…’

      ‘What did you think?’ he put in as her strained whisper faded into an open-mouthed look of disbelief.

      ‘That you didn’t believe me.’

      ‘I don’t.’ His mouth hardened as he punched out a number on his phone, and said something swiftly in his Sicilian dialect, before meeting her gaze with cold, hard eyes. ‘But the easiest way to rule out a whole load of unnecessary paperwork and time is to see the baby for myself.’

      ‘You think you’ll be able to establish his paternity just by looking at him?’

      ‘Of course I do. The Cardini genes are unmistakable,’ he said, his voice harsh as he called her bluff. ‘You know that as well as I do.’

      Emma swallowed. ‘He’ll be asleep.’

      So now she had backed herself into a corner. ‘So much the better—for I have no wish to unsettle the child.’ A low beeping sound emitting from his phone alerted his attention and he shot Emma a disparaging glance. ‘Now put your shoes back on, cara—and let’s get this over with. The car’s here.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      IT WAS the journey from hell.

      Despite the quietly opulent luxury of Vincenzo’s chauffeur-driven car, Emma sat bolt upright on the soft leather seat as if she were facing a firing squad. Yet that was exactly how it felt—only she happened to be facing the lethal weapons of his words rather than the cold metal of a gun.

      But if she stopped to think about it—what had she really expected to happen? She knew what kind of man Vincenzo was—had she really imagined that he would just calmly accept such a momentous piece of information from her? Perhaps that he would just nod sagely and give her a divorce and then politely ask when it might be convenient for him to visit his son? As if.

      What a fool she had been not to have anticipated this.

      But at least this way it would soon be all over and there would be no awful delay to endure. No feeling threatened while she waited anxiously to see just what he would do next. Vincenzo would soon set eyes on Gino and would know instantly that the baby had sprung from his loins. Emma knotted her fingers together. And of course that would bring up problems all of its own—but at least she would have done the right thing, and after the initial anger had subsided, surely they were mature enough to work out some kind of effective compromise.

      ‘So who has been looking after him today?’

      The question shot at her from out of the gloom and somehow her estranged husband had managed to turn it into an accusation. ‘My friend Joanna.’

      ‘I see.’ In the dim light Vincenzo’s mouth twisted, but Emma noticed, as no doubt he had intended her to do. ‘She is experienced in the care of children?’

      ‘She’s got a little boy about the same age,’ Emma put in hastily, hating the fact that she felt the need to defend herself and yet wanting to impress on him that she was a good mother. ‘And she’s brilliant with him. This evening she’s left her son with her husband so that she could put mine to bed in his own home.’

      A long finger drummed a slightly menacing little beat on the taut surface of one СКАЧАТЬ