The Italian's Secret Baby (7 page)

She looked from the closed door to the man—he was alarming her some more and also, much more disturbingly, he was exciting her. ‘And that would bother you?' She delivered a brittle laugh. ‘Credit me with a little intelligence.'
Even if I've shown precious little of it to date.
‘You obviously get a kick out of bullying women. And you're
not
sorry, so don't say you are,' she hissed furiously.

His eyes narrowed on her belligerent face. ‘You make it extremely difficult for a man to be sorry,' he ground out grimly.

‘Yes, I know you don't like me, which makes it even more difficult to imagine why you'd want to talk to me or what you'd want to say, and quite frankly I don't want to know!' she lied grandly as she opened the door again. ‘Now, if you don't mind, it's late and I'm busy.'

His even teeth flashed white in his dark face as a smile that had nothing whatsoever to do with humour formed on his sensual lips. ‘You won't sleep tonight…'

Scarlet froze, her body stiffening as if in anticipation of a blow.

‘Curiosity killed the cat and you're going to be wondering what I did it for,' he warned. ‘Admit it, you will.'

Scarlet exhaled. She was light-headed with relief and willing to admit almost anything. For a split second she had jumped to the totally irrational conclusion that he possessed some insider knowledge of the dreams that had given her several nights of broken sleep recently.

Dark, erotic dreams.

Angie is always telling me I need to get out more—she's right!

Was it possible that at some subconscious level she was as frustrated as her friend claimed? That could account for the dreams and the fact she hadn't been able to get him out of her head.

‘I've told you, I'm busy,' she repeated dismissively.

‘Well, you can tell him to clear off.' His fine nostrils quivered in distaste. ‘I will not be dismissed.'

He might not know much about bringing up a child, but even he knew that a single mother with a series of boyfriends hardly provided the sort of stable background a child needed—
his
child needed.

She blinked, and tore her eyes from the nerve clenching spasmodically in the hollow of his lean cheek. This conversation was like walking in halfway through a film after the vital scene when the hero's motivations had been explained.

Roman would be the hero, of course; he had hero written all over him. She, on the other hand, would be one of the character actors, which would suit her—nobody remembered your name and you were always in work.

Fame was not something she craved.

Roman O'Hagan's touch, however, was; you had to face your weaknesses if you were going to overcome them.

‘Him who?' she enquired, still without the faintest idea what he was getting at.

He swallowed, the action causing the muscles in his brown throat to visibly ripple, and gave her a look of simmering hostility.

Scarlet heard a door in the hallway outside open and heard the distant murmur of voices.

‘Whoever you are so busy with,' he elaborated, totally ignoring the warning hand she raised to her lips.

Scarlet, who didn't want the world to know her business, closed the door.
‘Whoever?'

He shot her an impatient look and strode purposefully towards the bedroom door. Before Scarlet had any clue of his intention or could cry out in protest he yanked it open with such force it thudded loudly against the wall.

‘You can't go in there!'

Ignoring her outraged yell, he stepped inside her bedroom. Breathless with anger, she brushed past him. ‘What the—?' she began, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

Roman O'Hagan is in my bedroom…talk about a reality-fantasy clash!

When Roman discovered no lover on the bed, but a neat pile of freshly laundered clothes on the bottom of a narrow single bed waiting to be put away, his sneering expression relaxed into bafflement.

‘Where is he?'

The fantasy version had not involved him growling at her contemptuously. She pulled back in alarm as her thoughts shifted in the dangerous direction of what he
had
done. It wasn't soon enough to prevent a wave of warm, sexual lethargy working its way through her body.

‘Where's who…?' She gave her head a little shake to focus her thoughts.

‘The innocent act is quite unnecessary,' he assured her in a cold, clipped voice. ‘It's nothing to me who you choose to sleep with.' Even as he said it it struck Roman rather forcibly that his behaviour suggested the exact opposite.

A disinterested observer who didn't know any better might actually have concluded he was the wronged lover. Making a conscious effort, he forced his hands to unclench.

Belatedly Scarlet caught his meaning; her eyes widened. ‘You thought…' The low laugh began softly and increased to a full-blooded husky chuckle as the humour of the situation struck her.

She didn't know which was funnier: Roman O'Hagan, the man who had probably slept with more women than she had had hot dinners, having the nerve to get all sniffy because she was entertaining a man, or the idea that she was indulging in an evening of lust!

In these pyjamas too. She looked down at her casual but not sexy attire and released another low gurgle of mirth.

Roman inhaled, his nostrils flaring. ‘You think this is funny?'

Scarlet stared at him incredulously. ‘Not funny—
hilarious
—!' she corrected, cracking up again.

Bringing up Sam and holding down a full-time job did not exactly leave her with much time or energy for romantic adventures. Dating when you were a single mum was not a simple business and Scarlet had decided it simply wasn't worth the hassle.

As her laughter faded away she weighed the odds; he didn't
seem
drunk, but in view of a dearth of any other possible explanation for his presence, or his bizarre behaviour, she voiced her suspicions out loud.

‘Have you been drinking?'

‘I have not been drinking.' The denial was issued between clenched teeth.

‘Do you mind? Entry to my bedroom is on an invitation-only basis.' She tossed her head and centred her scornful gaze on his devastatingly handsome dark face. ‘And you're not invited.'

‘I'm devastated.' The derisive look he gave her brought an angry glitter to Scarlet's eyes.

‘You would be if you knew what you were missing!' she heard herself jeer.

‘If that was an invitation, I'll pass,' he replied, continuing his suspicious visual examination of the room.

‘It wasn't.' If he was going to insult her, the least he could do was look at her while he did it.

‘You're alone?'

‘And this would be your business because?'

He drew an exasperated breath. ‘Are you totally incapable of answering a simple question?'

Scarlet shook her head in disbelief. ‘I'm not answering any of your questions. Why on earth should I?'

He contemplated her belligerent face for a moment before saying in a placatory manner, ‘We can take this into the other room if you prefer.'

Scarlet vented a brittle laugh as she followed him into the living room. ‘
Wow
, you're all consideration,' she drawled with mock admiration. ‘You really have got the most incredible cheek. You barge in here uninvited. You let me think something has happened to Sam and then turn it around and interrogate me!' She gave a weary sigh. ‘Will you just go?'

‘It's seven-thirty.' His glance rested pointedly on her pyjamas. ‘Why are you dressed for bed?'

‘Oh, I always wear these when I plan an evening of seduction.'

Her sarcasm brought a dark line of colour to the slashing angle of his incredible cheekbones.

‘Then you're alone?'

‘I was,' she retorted drily.

He looked around the room, registering the blurred frozen image on the TV screen, the box of chocolates and the untouched glass of wine. His glance reached the box of toys tucked into a corner and he frowned.

‘Is…?' He swallowed. ‘Where is Sam?'

‘Sam is sleeping over at a friend's, the
Bradleys
, which is probably just as well in the circumstances.'

‘The circumstances being?'

‘Three-year-olds don't react well to being woken up.'

‘Ah.' His facial muscles clenched, exaggerating the sharp contours and angles of his face. He really did have bone structure to die for, she thought, despising the weakness that made her incapable of not staring. ‘I didn't think.'

‘About anything other than what you want? I'd already worked that one out. No doubt it's acting on impulse that makes you such a financial success?'

‘I know you're not Sam's mother.'

She waited, her expression attentive but confused, until it occurred to her he was expecting some sort of response. ‘Not his birth mother, no,' she agreed. The adoption had made her his legal guardian.

She was cool, he had to give her that. ‘You didn't ask me how I knew you weren't his mother?'

She shrugged her shoulders and still betrayed none of the guilt he had expected her to when confronted. ‘I suppose I assumed someone mentioned it in passing. David, maybe?'

‘David?'

‘The vice-chancellor.'

‘You call the vice-chancellor
David
?' His voice was heavy with suspicion.

‘He went to school with my uncle, I've known him since I was a little girl so, yes, I do call him David.'

‘And he knows Sam isn't your son?'

Scarlet shook her head in total bewilderment. ‘It's not like it's a secret. Everyone knows, I suppose.'

He looked at her, his dark brows drawn into a straight line.

‘Why? What did you think?'

His eyes were hidden beneath the lustrous sweep of his lashes as he looked across at her, but his attitude suggested he was wary. ‘Then who is Sam's birth mother?'

‘My sister Abby was Sam's mother.'

C
OMPREHENSION
struck Roman with the force of a tidal wave. Of the scenarios he had imagined—and he had imagined plenty—this one had never occurred to him.

The people he employed on those occasions when he required a background check were both efficient and discreet. He could have had the information she had just provided in literally a matter of hours, maybe less. Instead he had taken a far more tortuous route, and had his DNA compared with the hair sample he had taken from the child.

At the time he had told himself that the fewer people who knew what he was doing, the less chance there was of the story leaking out. He'd wanted to know for certain he didn't have a son without having to involve a whole string of people. Now he was forced to consider the possibility that the
truth
had only been part of what he had wanted—he had wanted someone to blame.

Not just someone.

The stranger who was bringing up his child without his knowledge had to be guilty of
something
—! He had wanted to confront Scarlet, to make this personal—
it was personal
!

His stillness was scary, she thought. It was actually a relief when his shoulders lifted and a soundless sigh shuddered through his powerful frame.

‘Was…?'

Scarlet looked away and with a gesture that was intensely weary rubbed the bridge of her nose; the glasses were gone but the habit remained. She blinked hard to clear her blurry vision as tears filled her eyes.

Damn—!
She really didn't want to cry in front of him.

It wasn't as if she couldn't talk about Abby without getting upset; she made a point of talking about her with Sam, who had a photo of his mother in his room.

‘Here, have this,' he said brusquely.

She released a wry laugh as she automatically took the glass he handed her. ‘I was wondering if you ever say please?' she explained in reply to his questioning look.

A puzzled frown developed on her smooth brow as their glances meshed. ‘Why are you here, Roman?'

‘Your sister is dead?'

Scarlet nodded, and took a swallow of the wine.

‘I'm sorry.'

‘There's no need to be; you didn't know her.'

She caught a flicker of something in his expression that she couldn't put a name to, but it wasn't there when he walked back from the Welsh dresser with a clean mug in his hand. He proceeded to slosh some wine into it.

‘It's cheap supermarket plonk.'

He looked at her, his piercing regard intense. He drew a deep breath and his hands coiled at his sides. ‘You'd better sit down,' he said abruptly.

‘People say that when they're about to tell you something you won't like hearing.'

He didn't deny it.

Scarlet moved a cushion and sat down on the sofa. Her stomach was churning with apprehension.

‘You'd better sit down yourself,' she said with an irritable frown. ‘You look terrible,' she added, observing the grey tinge to his olive-toned skin and the definite tautness in the lines around his mouth and eyes.

Her frown deepened.

He still looked pretty damned marvellous.

She watched as he did what she suggested, folding his long, lean frame into a bucket chair beside the TV. It was laughably inadequate for his length and he ought to have looked silly but he performed the action with his usual inimitable grace. Scarlet loved to watch him move; clearly she was losing her mind.

‘It upsets you to talk about your sister?'

Scarlet didn't hear him at first, because she was covetously watching him, imagining the shift of tight, hard muscles in his shoulders as he moved. He had unzipped his jacket and underneath he wore a simple white designer tee shirt. It was fitted enough to suggest the strongly defined musculature of his upper body, a strong body.

Her eyes were drawn to the faint shadow of body hair visible through the fine fabric and she had absolutely no control over the flutter low in her belly. An image of dark, smooth skin came into her head and she swallowed convulsively. It was like walking into a solid wall; the wave of paralysing longing that hit her made her head spin.

The situation called for her to face some facts she'd been ignoring. Since their first meeting she hadn't been able to get Roman out of her thoughts. At first she had tried to resist, but then she had told herself that indulging in the fantasies could do no harm. That had been a mistake, one which she was suffering for now.

She was obsessed!

Given full rein her fantasies had multiplied and got out of control. Now she couldn't look at him without her mind being filled by all kinds of erotic images her feverish imagination had conjured.

Well, it was about time she got her subconscious under control. She took a deep breath. They were talking about Abby, which made her preoccupation with sex all the more shameful.

‘
Upset?
Not really, it just hits you sometimes…I miss her,' she admitted simply. Abby wouldn't have thought her sexual fantasies shameful. If her sister had been here she would no doubt have advised her to go for it, she thought with a smile.

‘Was there an illness…or an accident—?' There was nothing in his tone or attitude that she could put her finger on, but the question did not come over as a casual enquiry. ‘You don't want to talk about it?' he asked.

‘Not especially, but it would seem you do.' She picked up the cushion and hugged it tightly to her body, rocking a little as she pulled her knees up to her chest. ‘Why is that? Did you know Abby?' Her eyes widened as she shot him a questioning look.

‘I can't recall meeting an Abby Smith.'

‘Oh, but Abby didn't use Smith. She said I looked like a Smith but she didn't—she was right,' she reflected, running a hand over the brown hair that Abby had always advised her to bleach.
Blondes darling, definitely have more fun!

‘She was an actress?'

Scarlet shook her head. ‘She intended to be one day, but she was a model—Abby Deverell. She was quite successful. Well, actually, she was
very
successful.'

‘Your sister was Abby Deverell?'

Scarlet could see him trying to find some similarity in her own features. It would be a fruitless search; Abby had been beautiful.

‘People always do that, but we're not alike.'

God, the woman had had his child and he couldn't even recall her face clearly. What sort of man did that make him?

‘So you did meet her?' Scarlet wondered why she hadn't considered the possibility earlier. It would certainly explain his brooding expression, she thought, slanting a surreptitious glance at his strong profile.

‘Yes, I did meet her,' he returned abruptly.

Now he had a name and face…or he
should
have a face. The woman had fronted a very high-profile publicity campaign just a few years ago. You hadn't been able to walk down the street, open a magazine or switch on a television without seeing her face.

So why, when he tried now to visualise those photogenic features, was he only able to see the face of her younger sister?

Scarlet didn't register the abruptness of his reply. ‘She was very lovely, wasn't she?'

He responded to her wistful appeal with an affirmative nod, not because he remembered, to his shame he didn't, but because it was obviously what she wanted to hear. ‘Yes, she was.'

He had spent one night at her flat. He knew the date; it should have been his first wedding anniversary. He had woken up fully dressed on her sofa with a raging headache; she had said she had let him sleep it off.

‘Did you know her well?'

His silence lasted a long time—a noticeably long time.

Scarlet drew a sharp breath as she suddenly went icy cold all over, convinced that he was about to admit they had been lovers.

‘No, I didn't know her well.'

The sigh of relief that whistled through her clenched teeth was silent. If he had been Abby's lover, why would it have made a difference…? What was there for it to make a difference to? It wasn't as if there was, or ever would be, anything between her and Roman.

‘So Sam knows you're not his real mother?'

‘Of course. You shouldn't lie to children.'

‘A very sound principle,' he approved smoothly. ‘And when Sam's older and he asks about his parents you'll be able to tell him…?'

Unwittingly, she thought, he had touched upon a subject that had concerned her for some time. Sam would ask about his father, it was inevitable, but what was she supposed to tell him? The truth? Or was she to invent a hero that a boy could be proud of? It was a minefield.

‘Sam's very young to understand yet.'

‘It's surprising how much children understand.'

‘I'll be able to tell him that his mummy loved him very much.'

‘Has she been gone long?'

‘Abby learnt she had leukaemia when she was first pregnant with Sam,' Scarlet recalled quietly. ‘The doctors wanted her to have a termination and start treatment straight away. They warned her that not to do so would seriously reduce her chances of survival.'

Their eyes locked. The shock in his was visible, as was the compassion; the latter made her throat ache, and she swallowed.

‘And they were right?'

‘Yes,' she admitted softly.

‘She ignored them?' he probed gently.

Scarlet nodded.

He released his breath in a long fractured hiss. ‘What a decision to be forced to make.' And make alone.

‘I don't think it actually was that hard for Abby. I don't think a termination was ever an option for her.'

‘How long after?'

‘Sam was three months old when she died; most of that three months she spent in hospital,' she imparted quietly.

Roman caught his breath. ‘My God.' His brow furrowed. ‘She
knew
that having her baby would kill her?'

Anger flared in Scarlet's dark-fringed hazel eyes. ‘No,
leukaemia
killed her.'

She was painfully aware that it was possible for a careless word to plant an idea in a child's head, and she determined that Sam wouldn't grow up burdened with the guilt of his mother's death.

‘And I'd be grateful if you didn't say that again—
ever
.'

He inclined his head towards her. ‘Of course, I'm sorry.'

Rather taken aback by his apparent sincerity, she accepted it with a grudging but wary nod.

‘And you have brought her baby up?' She gave a tiny nod of assent, and his hand came up to his mouth before moving roughly along the angle of his hard, angular jaw.

The bare facts were he had got a woman pregnant and for whatever reason she had not felt able to tell him. That woman had died and if her premature death could not be directly attributed to the birth of his son it had definitely been a contributing factor.

It didn't matter what sort of spin you put on those facts, he did not emerge from the telling of this story looking good. If there was any victim here he wasn't it…not that there was any shortage of victims in this story.

‘That must have been hard.' He winced inwardly at the triteness of his words.

‘I was terrified of the responsibility at first,' Scarlet admitted. She gave a small laugh. ‘I still am sometimes…' Her eyes lifted. ‘Does that sound terrible to you?'

As soon as she'd asked the question Scarlet hated the fact she sounded as though she was asking for his approval.

He didn't reply, just continued to look at her with an odd intensity.

‘It doesn't sound terrible at all,' he said finally. ‘So don't beat yourself up.'

She blinked to clear her blurry vision. It was perverse that after surviving his insults she should be brought to the brink of emotional tears by his kindness.

‘Wasn't there someone else you could have shared the responsibility with?'

Scarlet sniffed and dabbed her finger to a spot of moisture in the corner of her eye. ‘There was just Abby and me, and our gran who died last year. She was pretty frail.'

He searched her open features, and realised that not only was she
not
canvassing the sympathy vote, she didn't have the faintest idea how poignant her statement sounded.

Dealing with people who normally had an agenda—people who wanted something from him—Roman found himself uniquely ill equipped when it came to a dialogue with someone who said what they meant. Someone who furthermore would have thrown anything he offered back in his face.