The Italian's Demand

‘Tough!’

He almost reeled back in shock. Something odd was happening here. ‘What did you say?’ he asked menacingly.

‘It’s impossible!’

With her extraordinary violet eyes flashing in challenge, she flung back her head, releasing a shower of water drops from her dripping hair. Intrigued, he noticed that tiny white flowers had been trapped in the tar-slick curls. Daisies. Very bohemian.

Her hands thumped belligerently down to her hips, drawing his gaze there. Incomparable, he thought with a start, his eyes and brain full of delicious curves. In other circumstances it would have been the body of his dreams. But he had something more important on his mind.

‘Because?’ he growled, eyes glittering with shards of white-hot fury.

She glared, as hostile as if he were the devil incarnate. ‘Because you can’t! Because I’m not going to let you!’

He froze, fearing that she’d say his son had disappeared. Drawing in a steadying breath he jerked out a husky, ‘And why the hell not?’

‘Because he’s asleep!’ she declared, defiant and ready for a pitched battle.

But her words were wonderful. The best news he could have had. Vittore’s eyes closed and his heart lurched wildly, every taut muscle unwinding as if by magic.

Lio was there! Thank you. Thank you, he thought fervently.

For a moment he couldn’t speak for emotion, but he knew he must persuade this ill-tempered vision to open the gate before she turned out to be a figment of his fevered imagination.

‘It doesn’t matter if he’s asleep or awake,’ he said shakily, his heart singing for joy. ‘I just want to see him. He’s my son!’ he cried passionately. ‘You can’t stop me. So open the gate at once!’

The curving red lips were bitten, one then the other, by the small, white teeth. Her face was a picture of misery, her entire body slumping in defeat and she shivered pathetically.

‘No. I’ve got to get dry,’ she mumbled, her eyes tragic. ‘I’m absolutely soaked—’

‘I’d noticed,’ he drawled. He wasn’t blind. His iced-over sexual responses had already made themselves known, much to his surprise. ‘Are you all right?’ he enquired, his innate thoughtfulness temporarily overriding his own agenda. ‘I heard a cry—’

‘That was me. I was startled to hear your name because you were dead. Or so I’d thought. I fell in the pool,’ she explained mournfully. ‘Swimming in a long dress when you’re exhausted isn’t the easiest activity in the world.’

There was a breathless silence while he followed her rueful glance at the dress, which seemed to have become an intimate part of her body. Every mound looked alluringly attainable.

Overcome, he pushed a hand over his forehead as his head swam with tiredness from travel, from expectation—or were those the stirrings of sexual desire?

Ruthlessly he restored some semblance of control. ‘I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never tried. So it’s my fault you’re wet?’ he queried, sounding more sardonic than he had intended.

She glared, piercing him with her pansy eyes, thick black lashes wet and spangled with tiny drops of water. He couldn’t stop the heat coursing through his veins. Maledizione! He felt shaken by her, as if he’d been hit by a truck. But of course, she was so vibrant, so alive, and his emotions were at fever pitch…

‘It certainly is!’ she retorted sharply. ‘So you’ll have to stay here while I go and change—’

‘Dio! What are you trying to do to me?’ he cried in astonishment. The thought of waiting a second longer had effectively reined in his wayward hormones. ‘This is ridiculous! Let me in now!’ he ordered indignantly.

‘No. You wait!’ she repeated in agitation.

‘The devil I will!’ he raged. ‘Surely you don’t intend to keep me hanging around out here, prowling up and down like a caged tiger, while you—’

‘I have to!’ she cried, clearly agitated. ‘I can’t risk you snatching Lio while I’m changing!’ she flung.

Vittore flinched with horror at such a barbaric idea. ‘Snatch? Why should I snatch what is mine?’ he demanded in outrage.

‘Yours? Oh, help!’ she muttered. ‘Where do I begin? I’m just protecting Lio—’

‘From his own father?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes!’ Her hand swept impatiently over her forehead. ‘Look—you must wait. I promise I’ll let you in as soon as I can. I’m a quick dresser. I just can’t risk…’ She fidgeted in agitation, artistic fingers twisting and writhing together. ‘There’s something you have to know—’

‘What? Why?’ he grated in helpless fury. ‘And what right do you have to deny me? Just who the devil are you?’

‘I’m Verity,’ she replied wearily. ‘Verity Fox. I was adopted by the Foxes, like Linda. I’m Lio’s guardian. Stay there. Won’t be a sec.’

With that, she spun around, untwisted her skirts impatiently and gathered them up to reveal long, tanned and bare legs, which suddenly leapt into action and took her around the back of the house again in a flash of shimmering gold and white, all topped off by that night-dark, bobbing hair.

He dragged his mind from this vision, realising he was being left to stew.

‘Come back!’ he shouted angrily. ‘Verity! Come back at once—!’

He was talking to thin air. He felt like bellowing in his frustration. A nanny or au pair would have been easier to deal with than this stunning, feisty woman with a knockout body and a mind of her own!

He pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling as if he’d been standing in the path of a hurricane. He thrummed with life, aroused by Verity’s extraordinary persona, fired too by the tantalising knowledge that his son slept peacefully a hundred metres or so away.

Patience, he told himself, trying to calm his agitated mind. Five minutes, ten, an hour…what did those minutes matter in the long run? Lio was in the house. He’d scoop him up in his arms and never let him go. Soon. Soon.

But logic and sense couldn’t compete with months of deprivation. He wanted his child and had been without him too long.

‘For the love of heaven!’ he groaned contrarily.

How could he wait? How long did it take most women to undress, shower, choose something suitable… Hell. Hours, usually.

Suddenly incapable of remaining still, he began to loose off some of the energy that seemed to be stored in his body by striding up and down. Astonishingly, his mind had leapt away from Lio and had focussed on the woman who’d ignited his consciousness, imagining her in a room upstairs, peeling off that dress…

Per l’amor del cielo! What was he? Some sort of sex maniac that he should be distracted by a fabulous body at a time like this? It was true she was beautiful. Luscious. Perfect skin, incredible eyes, a mouth that had been made for kissing. And she was fiery. Passionate and apparently very caring.

He allowed himself a wry smile. No wonder she’d made such an impression on him! It was because his feelings were all over the place, his needs raw and hungry. He’d be more in control once he’d seen Lio. More tranquil.

‘Avanti!’ He muttered impatiently. Come on!

He had a child to hold and love, bags to pack, a flight to catch. A son to take home.

From the upstairs bedroom, the trembling Verity furtively observed Vittore as he fumed his way up and down beside the burglar-proof railings. Once he stopped and looked up at the spikes at the top and seemed to contemplate climbing over, but he then thought better of it and resumed his furious prowling, for all the world like the caged tiger he’d mentioned.

She gulped, her eyes wide with dismay. Never in the whole of her life had she seen anyone so angry. He simmered like a rumbling volcano about to erupt and devastate the countryside around.

Her heart thudded loudly. Vittore wouldn’t meekly go away when she explained that Lio oughtn’t to leave her. He’d never understand. She knew that he didn’t have an ounce of sensitivity in the whole of his body.

The nausea clawed at her stomach again. It looked horribly likely that she’d lose Lio. This was a situation she hadn’t expected, not in a million years.

She would never have given her heart so completely if she’d thought Vittore might turn up. Wouldn’t have allowed Lio to regard her as the centre of the universe. It would devastate her if Lio left. And how would he ever recover?

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered, appalled by the terrible dilemma.

This was Vittore’s child. But Lio was far too disturbed to be put in his father’s care. Verity held her stomach, willing herself not to be sick. She had to get through this, had to succeed, for Lio’s sake.

Her brain whirled with questions. Linda had lied when she’d said that Vittore was dead. Why? Had she run away? And if so, why? What kind of ogre was Vittore? Or was it his persistent infidelity that had been too painful to bear? Linda had been scathing about his womanising.

Verity took a good, hard look at him. Not that she didn’t know already how sensual he was, the kind of man who’d attract women like flies to his web.

That athletic and muscular body was packed with sexual impulses—which had, she could have sworn, been zapped at her once or twice. She’d certainly found herself reluctantly wilting under the intensity of his hot, sultry eyes. He even moved with a sexy fluidity that had made her knees go weak.

His air of sophisticated, man-of-the-world confidence was very appealing. Vittore’s hair was glossy; smooth and neat, now he’d swept back that poet’s lick back from his forehead. And he probably made good use of those melting chocolate eyes that had expressed several emotions in the short time they’d talked; flashing with tenderness, anger and longing.

She groaned in despair. It seemed that he wanted his child badly. Whether that was just a male need for a son and heir, or for a more profound and worthy reason, she didn’t know.

Linda’s boasts about their lifestyle could have been true. Clearly he was rich and successful, which meant he was used to getting whatever he wanted. She knew he headed the family textile business, with masses of exclusive outlets all over the world. So we’re talking about dynasties, she mused gloomily.

Even if she hadn’t seen the Mantezzini name above adverts for impossibly glamorous and expensive clothes, she could have recognised his wealth in the cut of his quiet, classy, soft-textured suit. It fitted him like a glove and had obviously been hand-made. Shoes, too. Probably the cream shirt and expensive silk tie had been laboured over with loving care as well. Yes, the playboy Italian looked groomed to the last immaculate inch.

Smelling of money. Smelling gorgeous, as a matter of fact, drat him! She scowled. He’d give Lio a fabulous life—far better in material terms than the one she’d envisaged for them. No doubt Lio would take over the business eventually. What a future.

But would her nephew have what truly mattered: total, unconditional love? She went cold, envisaging the kind of loveless existence she’d been subjected to at home. Without her friends at school, she would have been utterly miserable.

And who would offer Lio a mother’s love? Would he find an ever-changing string of women in his father’s bed? And…would he be farmed out to nannies and be visited by his father only at teatime?

Her fists clenched. That wouldn’t be good enough! Bewildered, frightened little Lio needed affection and love like a fish needs water. And he needed Vittore’s rotten kind of fathering like a hole in the head.

But…what was she going to do? Start a siege? And look what a bag of nerves she was! She was trembling all over!

Time she dived into a warm shower. And found the courage to persuade Vittore that he couldn’t take Lio away right now.

She dared not fail. Her stomach lurching uncomfortably, she checked that Lio was all right. Looking down on his sweet face, her heart somersaulted at the thought of the next hour or so which would decide his fate as well as hers. Her finger stroked his fair cheek.

‘Oh, Lio,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I love you so very much!’

A sob escaped in a wobbly kind of sound through her trembling lips and she hurried to peel off her sopping wet dress. Shakily she stepped into the shower, where tears mingled with the water that poured over her head and where all the daisy petals from that lovely, blissful afternoon were swept away, to sit in a limp and miserable heap blocking the shower drain.

Still only half-dry, her hair wrapped in a virgin white towel, she wriggled into the first pair of briefs that came to hand and yanked what she thought was her cotton turquoise dress from the wardrobe, her fingers shaking so much she could hardly cope with the tiny buttons which ran from neckline to hem.

Too late, she discovered it was a similar one of Linda’s: too late, too short and too tight, she thought moodily, diving for the buttons in order to take it off again. Just then, the gate buzzer rang shrill and loud, and she jumped, fearing that Lio would wake.

‘Damn whoever forgot to make you waterproof!’ she muttered, glaring at the ruined entry phone remote control which she’d flung on the bed. ‘Where were you when I needed you?’ she demanded.

The wretched thing might have let Vittore in without any further risk of awakening the sleeping Lio. As it was, Vittore had apparently decided to lean on the buzzer till she answered and it was screaming through the silence of the house like a banshee.

And so, barefoot and muttering all the rude words she knew, she hitched up the pelmet skirt to hip level and hurtled down the stairs to punch in the code that opened the gates. Remembering, of course, to snuggle the skirt back as far as it would go—which wasn’t far. Not that she cared.

All she could think of was that Vittore could destroy her happiness and turn a bewildered, distressed child into a total wreck. Her heart leapt erratically, her mind focussed only on Lio. His interests came above everything else.

Wiping her clammy hands on her hips, she opened the front door and drew in a horribly shaky breath as the scowling threat to Lio’s welfare came up the drive and strode grimly up the wide steps towards her, his intention crystal clear.

He’d demand to see Lio. Order baby things to be packed.

And there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop him.

CHAPTER THREE

‘COME IN,’ she whimpered in an appallingly silly, breathless voice.

Vittore obviously thought she was ditzy because he frowned.

‘Lio,’ he stated starkly, not beating about the bush.

‘You mustn’t wake him!’ she declared tremulously.

The rich chocolate eyes hardened. ‘Sweet Madonna—!’ He checked himself, his sultry mouth a thin, angry line. ‘Just point me in his direction. Upstairs, is he?’

Seething with anger, Vittore started striding towards the opulently grand staircase and she had to scurry frantically to catch him up, the towel falling off her hair in the process.

With water dropping onto her bare shoulders, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped dead, gazing at her inscrutably.

It was like gripping tensile steel. Alarmed by the illogical intimacy of what she was doing, Verity snatched her hand away. Tingles were whizzing up and down her arm. The man was electric, she thought in confusion. And, heaven help her, she’d just been switched on.

‘Yes?’ he growled, in a deeply husky voice that somehow made her knees turn to water.

She swallowed, some crazily diverted part of her brain mulling over the fact that he seemed to extend words, savouring them in his mouth and letting them roll out in an unnervingly sexy way. That was Italians for you.

‘You’ve got to promise,’ she breathed, astonishingly still not in full control of her lungs. Or anything else for that matter. Fear did funny things to the body.

‘Promise what?’

Valiantly she pulled the wandering strands of her brain together and licked her dry lips till she could speak again.

‘Promise not to wake him!’ she croaked.

‘So. You care about my son,’ he observed, scrutinising her anxious face as if interested in every detail.

‘Yes! I adore him, every little scrap of him!’ she cried, all the passion in her heart filling that declaration with a fierce intensity. ‘From his little toes to the top of his blond head!’

For a moment his watchful eyes seemed to soften. She did, too. He was mesmeric. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

‘I won’t wake him,’ he promised, solemnly gazing deep into her eyes. ‘Just…’ It seemed that emotion had got the better of him. For a second or two she watched wide-eyed while he steadied himself again. ‘You will understand,’ he said softly, ‘that naturally I am anxious to see him after all this time.’

‘But not take him!’ she faltered.

‘That, Verity, is why I’m here,’ he pointed out drily.

She felt faint. ‘You mean you’re just going to pick him up out of his bed and shove him in your car and drive away?’ she cried in horror.

Vittore flinched. ‘Do I look like a barbarian?’ he asked coldly.

‘I don’t know what barbarians look like, do I? I have to protect him!’ she jerked in distress. ‘I am his guardian!’

His brows dipped together alarmingly and she realised she’d insulted him unforgivably by suggesting he was an uncouth savage.

‘Is this a legal guardianship? An official arrangement with signed agreements, ratified by a solicitor?’ he shot at her unfairly.

She shuffled her feet, unable to lie but wishing she could.

‘N-no—’

‘Then you have no right in law where he is concerned,’ he said, crushing any hopes she might have harboured.

‘Law! What does the law matter—?’ she began hotly.

‘Everything!’ he barked. ‘Now listen, Verity. I’ve had enough of your hostility and suspicion. I suppose you’ve had Linda’s version of events. Well, this is mine—’

‘I know all about you!’ she yelled.

‘No, you don’t! You’ve heard nothing but lies. You will listen if I have to tie you up and gag you first!’ he raged.

She cringed back, frightened by his raw anger. She might have to call the police if he got violent. But her best bet would be to humour him, let him see Lio and then give him the facts.

‘I’m listening,’ she said coldly. ‘Go ahead.’

He folded his arms, his eyes dark and brooding and she realised that the bleakness of his expression was actually nothing to do with her, but some pain he’d held within him for a long time. Something in her suddenly sympathetic expression must have soothed him, because he gave a helpless gesture with his hands and muttered a curt, ‘Thank you.’

Then he fixed her with his penetrating eyes and began.

‘Fourteen months ago, Linda abducted Lio from my house,’ he said stiltedly. ‘I had no warning. When I left for work, he was there. When I came home, he and his mother had gone. Linda’s dressing room was empty and all of Lio’s clothes had been taken away. I heard nothing. Knew nothing. My son had vanished off the face of the earth. For all that time, I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Until this morning—’

Verity felt his pain, her stomach constricting with horror. ‘I can’t believe this!’ she gasped. ‘You thought he might be dead? That’s terrible! How could you bear it? If what you say is true—’

‘True? Of course it’s true!’ he exploded. ‘Why would I pretend otherwise?’ he fumed. ‘Do you think I enjoy tormenting myself with the memory of the suffering I endured at the hands of your adoptive sister?’

She flushed. ‘I don’t know! I have two conflicting stories and I’m confused! It’s just that it was such an extraordinarily cruel thing to do, and…’

‘It was,’ he rasped. ‘How else could Linda deal me a mortal wound?’

‘Oh!’ Verity breathed, wide-eyed with shock. What had happened between him and Linda, she wondered? ‘She must have hated you very much!’

Pain etched lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘I’m not discussing her any further,’ he said tightly.

She knew when not to probe. There were terrible undercurrents here she knew nothing about. To do something so drastic, Linda must have been provoked beyond endurance!

Verity’s eyes grew even larger with apprehension. She leaned against the banister, clutching at it for support, even more determined not to hand her precious, needy Lio over to this deeply flawed man.

‘I didn’t have the full story, obviously.’ Her chin lifted in a stubborn gesture, huge violet eyes flashing in warning. She vowed that she’d get to the bottom of this before she let Vittore touch a hair of Lio’s head! ‘I don’t think I have it now—’

‘Verity,’ he muttered tautly, barely controlling his temper, ‘I am trying to remember my manners, but I am becoming increasingly impatient. Control comes easily to me—except where my passions are fiercely engaged. As they are now. For the last time—are you going to show me where Lio is, or do I search for him myself?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll take him away!’ she jerked.

‘Of course I will!’ he flared. ‘He is my flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone! Sweet heaven, I have held him in my heart and ached for him every hour of every day since he was taken from me!’

His words rang true and touched a chord in her. He wanted his son. Had a right to him. Her head bowed in defeat and drops of water fell from her swinging hair, staining the front of her dress. The painful thought of losing Lio felt like a dozen daggers in her breast. Imagining little Lio’s anguish only added to her pain.

‘Oh, no!’ she groaned. ‘No…’

As her despairing body wilted and it seemed she’d fall, strong hands caught her arms, holding her up as if she were weightless. Dizziness claimed her but she knew she had to stay alert and desperately struggled to focus her mind.

‘Verity!’ he muttered urgently. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘Terror!’ she blurted out tearfully.

‘What?’ His perplexed face was close to hers, a blur of golden skin and strong, white teeth. ‘Explain!’ he demanded.

Tipping up her plaintive face to his, she tried not to drown in the dark liquid eyes.

‘I’m t-terrified you’ll walk off with him now. He’s only a baby, Vittore and he’ll be so frightened if you do!’ she cried tremulously. ‘Don’t take him till I’ve talked to you!’ she begged in one last, desperate attempt. ‘Please, Vittore! For Lio’s sake, you need to know everything about him!’

He looked wary, his eyes narrow and glinting with troubled lights as they searched hers.

‘What do you mean? Is he ill? Physically harmed?’ he fired harshly, startling her.

‘No! He’s physically perfect.’ She winced at the pressure of his hands. ‘Please! You’re hurting me!’

‘Forgive me!’ His body, his grip, relaxed. ‘I do apologise. I was upset. Worried. In my anxiety I didn’t realise what I was doing.’

Gently he rubbed her arms where his fingers had clamped so tightly but she could see that his thoughts were elsewhere.

And she was glad, because she had shuddered at his touch. The strain of the moment was making her super-sensitive—just when she wanted to be cool and composed.

‘You unnerved me,’ he said shortly. ‘For a moment, I feared the worst.’

‘Please don’t worry. He’s gorgeous,’ she assured him. ‘But… Look. Go and see him. Then let me talk to you!’ she begged.

He frowned, then shrugged. ‘All right. Anything. We’ll talk. Briefly. I have a flight booked.’

Verity suppressed a moan. A flight! Not with Lio in tow, she vowed. She’d make sure of that. But at least he’d agreed to listen to her. She had the chance to persuade him that whisking his son off to Italy would be a terrible mistake.

‘Thank you!’ she whispered.

To her dismay she felt her legs buckle. Vittore drew her close again. For a moment she let her head rest against his solid chest, glorying in the protection of his embrace. Men had held her before, but only because they wanted to kiss her. No one had ever wrapped her in their arms and soothed her with stroking fingers, as Vittore was doing now.

Not even her adoptive mother.

Being cherished—however briefly—was a wonderful revelation. She could get addicted to it. But she knew she had to pull away.