The Italian's One-Night Love-Child Read online

  ‘How long have I lived here?’ Bethany repeated, parrot fashion. ‘Not long.’ Literally. ‘I’ll get you some water. If you just want to…um…stay right here. Won’t be long…’

  ‘You look as though you’re dressed to go out. Have I caught you at a bad time?’ He looked at her with gleaming eyes, sidelining his curiosity at her bizarre behaviour in favour of playing with the thought that he might be tempted to turn this casual meeting into something a little more rewarding. It wasn’t often that he was put in the position of pursuit. It was even less often that his initial response to a woman was so immediate. He found that he was enjoying both experiences.

  ‘Dressed to go out?’ Bethany made a big effort and dragged her eyes away from him so that she could teeter in her borrowed heels towards the kitchen.

  ‘Are you always this jumpy?’

  Bethany, in the process of getting some bottled water from the fridge, invested his passing remark with bullseye accuracy as she, on cue, jumped, because she hadn’t been aware of him following her into the kitchen.

  ‘Would you mind not creeping around like that?’ she said tersely. ‘Here. Water.’ She shoved the glass out to him and, once relieved of it, folded her arms.

  ‘Do you have a first name, Miss Doni?’ Getting anything out of this woman was like pulling teeth. His own white ones gritted together with irritation.

  ‘Why would you want to know my name?’ A trail of possible consequences crawled into her mind with poisonous clarity. The house-sitting job had originally fallen to one of the owner’s relatives, who happened to be a friend of Amy’s. Bethany wasn’t too sure why the girl had handed over the responsibility to Amy, but Amy had then delegated it to Bethany because she had landed herself a boyfriend and wasn’t happy about committing a month of her summer holiday to being cooped up in Rome. Bethany had been overjoyed at the arrangement. She would get to practise her Italian in the most beautiful city in the world and, furthermore, would have free accommodation in the sort of place she would never have clapped eyes on, never mind lived in, in a million years. And she would be paid for her trouble! Revealing her identity would be step one to landing her in a great deal of difficulty and, worse than that, would land Amy and her friend in even more trouble. She felt faint and half closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the kitchen counter.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Bethany opened her eyes to find him standing disconcertingly close to her, which made her feel flustered and breathless, but she kept her voice even when she replied. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’ She shifted a bit and Cristiano frowned, irritated by that small gesture of flight.

  ‘You don’t look fine. Your colour’s up. Maybe it’s the heat out there. You’re very fair. Italian women are accustomed to the heat in Rome over the summer months, but then you’re not Italian, are you? Despite the fact that you speak the language fluently. Is this…’ he looked around at the superbly kitted kitchen, which bore all the hallmarks of somewhere that was underused ‘…a holiday place?’

  Bethany could only stare. Did people have holiday places that looked like this? Marble everywhere? Paintings on the walls that cost the earth? A dressing room stuffed to overflowing with fabulous designer clothes?

  He settled that score by adding, ‘I myself have several.’

  ‘Do you?’ She sidestepped the question and was relieved when he broke the hold he had on her with his eyes by tipping his head back to swallow some water.

  Cristiano shrugged. ‘Here. Paris. New York. Barbados. Of course, Paris and New York are largely used when I’m over there on business. It’s useful not having to book hotels whenever I’m abroad.’ He dumped the glass on the counter, determined to bring the conversation back to her. ‘So your name…’

  ‘Amelia,’ Bethany told him miserably, crossing her fingers behind her back.

  ‘And where do you permanently reside, Amelia Doni?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘You’re not a very forthcoming person, are you, Miss Amelia Doni? I take it you are a miss…? I don’t notice a wedding ring on your hand.’

  ‘If you’re finished with that water…’

  Far from sounding flattered at his interest, she seemed even more keen to shepherd him out of the apartment, and it set his teeth on edge with rampant irritation.

  ‘How long are you over here?’ Cristiano asked because, perversely, the more disinterested she seemed, the more determined he became to break through her invisible silent barrier.

  Bethany shrugged and muttered something along the lines of not very long.

  ‘But presumably you were here long enough to get involved in the charity fund-raiser?’

  ‘Charity fund-raiser?’

  ‘The orchid? The one currently languishing on a table in the hall? It’s a thank you present from my mother. You must know how much she contributes to charity and I gather the last fund-raiser was particularly successful. She would have delivered it to you herself but she’s leaving for the country this evening and won’t be back for a while.’

  ‘Leaving for the country…’ Bethany repeated, aware that she was beginning to sound like someone mentally challenged.

  ‘We have a country house,’ Cristiano elaborated, bemused by her complete lack of interest in anything he had to say. ‘It’s far cooler in the hills than it is in the city…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I expect it would be. You must thank her for the…um…plant…’

  ‘What was your role in the fund-raiser?’

  ‘Ah…well…actually, I prefer not to hark back to things that have happened in the past. I’m a live for today kind of person…’

  ‘My kind of woman. I’m not scheduled to return to London until tomorrow. Have dinner with me tonight.’

  ‘What? No! No, no, no…!’ Bethany was alternately appalled at the thought of being caught out and stunned by the realisation that she wanted to accept his invitation. She didn’t know whether it was because she was in Italy and removed from her familiar comfort zone, but everything she was feeling and doing was horrendously out of character. ‘You have to go,’ she said in an agony of urgency.

  ‘Why? Are you expecting someone? A man? Are you involved with anyone?’

  ‘No.’ She began walking towards the front door. Lying did not come naturally to her and she knew that it would be just a matter of time before she tripped herself up.

  ‘So let’s get this straight. You’re not involved with anyone. You’re not waiting for anyone. Why the reluctance to have dinner with me?’

  ‘I…I…um…I think it’s a bit rude for you to come here on an errand and then ask me out to dinner…’

  ‘You mean you’re not flattered?’

  ‘I mean I don’t know you…’

  ‘So dinner would be the perfect opportunity to rectify that situation!’ He noticed that he had somehow been manoeuvred towards the front door and her small, pale hand was very firmly round the door handle. He watched in disbelief as she began turning the knob. He had, literally, been shown the door!

  ‘I don’t think so, but thanks for the invitation anyway. And…for the plant as well. I’ll make sure that I look after it, although I’ve never been very good with plants.’

  ‘Funny. Nor have I.’ He leaned indolently against the door, making it impossible for her to open it. ‘Already we have one thing in common.’

  ‘Do you do this a lot?’ Bethany asked, heart beating like a hammer inside her because something about him was sending her nervous system into overdrive. ‘Pop in to random strangers’ houses and ask them out to dinner? Okay, so it’s not rude as such, but you have to admit that it’s a bit strange. I mean…’ she tested the water ‘…you don’t know me from Adam. Goodness, I could be anyone!’

  ‘Yes,’ Cristiano said thoughtfully, ‘you could be anyone. Axe-murderer, psychopath…’ He shot her a curling smile that made her catch her breath. ‘Worse than that, scheming gold-digger after my money…However, you do have certain credentials, namely your connection with my mot
her and…’ he looked briefly around him, then back to her ‘…the fact that you own a place like this. Axe-murderers, psychopaths and gold-diggers probably wouldn’t be into charity fundraising or have holiday apartments in one of the best postcodes in Rome. So my fears are put to rest.’

  Bethany was beginning to feel giddy from the torrent of misconceptions swimming around her. Credentials? Knowing his mother? Owning the apartment?

  ‘And, admit it, you have to eat.’

  ‘I…I actually don’t like eating out. I prefer eating in. Cooking. So many wonderful fresh ingredients over here. It’s fun to experiment.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll come here.’

  ‘But you can’t.’ She stared up at the dangerously good-looking face gazing right back down at her and was overcome with the unusual sensation of walking on the very edge of a precipice. The view was tremendous, but falling was a real possibility.

  ‘Of course I can.’ Cristiano shrugged. Blessed with a lethal combination of looks, brains and wealth, he had yet to come across a member of the opposite sex who could resist him, and he refused to credit that the woman standing in front of him would prove to be the exception. ‘I can either come here or I can pick you up at eight.’

  ‘Why? Why do you want to take me out to dinner? Did your mother ask you to?’

  ‘Why should she do that?’ Cristiano’s brows knitted into a perplexed frown. ‘My mother has no involvement in my personal life and, in fact, she’ll be very firmly ensconced in the country by the time I come over here later.’ He pushed himself away from the door, not taking his eyes off her face. She really had the most marvellous skin. Translucent. Even without make-up. Not at all like the sultry brunettes he normally favoured. His mother had said very little about her but, then again, why should she have? It would seem that the woman was merely a friend of a friend of a friend who had been sequestered to help out for the charity bash, hence the orchid, which was an expensive but fairly impersonal way of demonstrating appreciation. Anyway, it was a good thing that nothing had been said because it would have been a surefire way of turning him off.

  ‘All mothers have involvement in their children’s lives,’ Bethany was distracted enough to point out, thinking of her own mother who clucked and fussed and still sent food parcels in the post from Ireland just to make sure that she wasn’t on the brink of starvation.

  ‘When it comes to women, I keep things strictly to myself.’ He opened the door, not allowing her the chance to become embroiled in a debate on a non-subject which would give her the opportunity to remember that she was busily trying to turn him down. He’d never been turned down. Furthermore, he had highly sensitised antennae and they were picking up her interest in him. He couldn’t understand why she would try and fight something as innocent as a dinner date but, whatever her reasons, that wide-eyed way she kept backing away intrigued him. Of course, she could just be playing hard to get, but he seriously doubted that. She had a face that spoke volumes. In fact, he hadn’t seen such an openly expressive face since…frankly, he couldn’t remember. ‘I should warn you that I usually get what I want,’ he inserted without vanity.

  ‘And you want dinner with me. Before you leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Finally!’ He gave her another of those amazing, toe-curling smiles. ‘We have lift-off.’ He took her hand, catching her by surprise, and turned it palm up so that he could press a brief kiss against her soft skin in a gesture that seemed purely, wickedly Italian and thrilled her to the bone.

  ‘I suppose so. But…but it’ll have to be an early night…’ she said anxiously.

  ‘You mean back home before the stroke of midnight when you revert to being a pumpkin?’

  Bethany went bright red. She honestly couldn’t say what had propelled her to accept the dinner invitation, but there was a trail of treacherous excitement curling inside her, starting at the tips of her toes, going right through her body to her dazed green eyes, which were locked onto his face with nervous fascination. Not even his quip about the pumpkin and midnight could wrench her from her foolhardy fascination and she was still feeling shell-shocked after he had gone.

  It was only when she caught sight of herself in the floor to ceiling mirror in the bedroom that reality assaulted her with merciless clarity and she dialled Amy on her mobile phone.

  She had to contain an impatient moan of pure frustration as Amy’s excitable voice greeted her on the other end of the line with an enthusiastic rundown of her latest conquest and the fabulous Florentine sights, which they had yet to see because the bed was proving too alluring.

  Bethany waited until she had run out of steam and then said hesitantly, ‘Little problem on this end.’ The floaty dress was still in evidence, witness to her moment of madness.

  ‘Oh, God! Tell me the apartment hasn’t burnt down!’

  ‘Still in one piece. But there’s been a visitor…and here’s the thing…’ The dress, which had seemed so temptingly beautiful, now stared balefully back at her from the mirror as she proceeded to tell her friend what had recently transpired. She kept getting muddled up because, in her head, all she could see was the stranger’s lean, dark, outrageously sexy face looking at her in a way that was both intrusive and scarily exciting and nothing at all like the way other boys back home had ever looked at her.

  ‘So you’re going out with him for dinner…Oh, God, let me think…okay, okay…might be for the best…’

  ‘Because…?’

  Half an hour later, Bethany removed the offending dress, laid it on the bed because it would have to be dry-cleaned in the morning, and thought that there was a lot of truth about webs and lies and getting entangled. Catrina, the original house-sitter and cherished godchild of the hapless Amelia Doni, who was on a cruise a thousand miles away from Rome, was in London. In rehab. Very hush-hush, and all hell would break loose should loaded and doting godmother find out. So the task of house-sitting had fallen to Amy, with a code red level of secrecy but, Amy being Amy, Love had reared its head and her house-sitting mission had fallen quickly by the wayside. Thankfully, Bethany had been there, ever reliable and immune to being led astray. The sort of girl who enjoyed reading Italian books at night and thought that three glasses of wine qualified as a binge-drinking fest.

  Now, as she stared down at the dress on the bed, Bethany wondered what had happened to Little Miss Reliability. The most daring thing she had done in ages had been to try that wretched dress on because yes, she really did enjoy curling up with a good book most nights and sometimes she even fulfilled that dreariest of clichés by curling up with a good book and a mug of hot chocolate.

  But now she had accepted a dinner invitation from a guy who was sinfully sexy and ultra-sophisticated. Moreover, it was just going to be a one-night affair, and if, for once, she acted out of character, if she behaved like the kind of person who might conceivably have a holiday apartment dripping with designer clothes, the kind of woman who thought nothing of hanging around in a dress that cost a small fortune, then why not? She would be helping Amy out because no one, but no one, could get a whiff of Catrina drying out in a clinic in the UK and the last thing anyone needed was for some connected Italian guy to start asking questions.

  Bethany felt a kick of excitement stir inside her. Of course, whatever she wore that night she would have dry-cleaned. She wasn’t that irresponsible. She was just going to have a couple of hours of fun…no harm there…

  Chapter Two

  ‘SO…TELL me about yourself…’

  It was an inevitable question but it still made Bethany’s nerves jangle because after the initial crazy euphoria of wondering what it would be like to step into someone else’s shoes for a night had come the shattering reality that she was, in actual fact, going to spend a few hours in the company of a sex god under false pretences. Between Cristiano’s departure from the apartment and the sound of his voice four hours later on the intercom when he arrived to collect her, she had had ample time to concede that a man like him—sleek, sophisticated, ext
raordinarily handsome—would never have looked at a girl like her under normal circumstances. In fact, they would never even have met under normal circumstances.

  Bethany, who had managed to fall back on most of her own clothes because leaving the house in someone else’s wardrobe seemed a bit rich, all things considered, wondered how best to answer his question.

  She finally settled on a vague, nonsensical answer along the lines of being a free spirit.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Cristiano looked across at her. She intrigued him and he had found himself looking forward to their dinner more than he had looked forward to any date with a woman in a long time. Nor had she disappointed. When the elevator doors had pinged open and she had walked across the marbled foyer towards him, he had literally been stopped in his tracks. She might have had all the money she wanted at her disposal, but she had foregone the diamonds and pearls, the little black dress that screamed designer and the killer stilettos, and instead had dressed down in a pair of jeans and some flat tan loafers with a pale blue wrap over her shoulders. Cristiano liked it. It took a confident woman to go for comfort and it took a sexy one to pull it off.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Bethany’s natural warmth came out in her smile. Now that she was talking and not just gawping like a star-struck teenager, she could begin to relax a little and to enjoy the stolen moment in time. ‘You sound like someone who’s spent a lifetime living in a bubble.’

  ‘Living in a bubble…’ Cristiano looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I did grow up in a bubble of sorts. Coming from a privileged background can have that effect. You’re naturally supposed to do certain things…’