Claiming His Pregnant Innocent

‘Forget what I said. If she is quite happy with the arrangement then that suits all of us, does it not? I will call in to see her later, to see how she’s settling in. And to thank her for co-operating at last!’

Releasing a sigh that sounded as if he’d been holding it in for ever, he crossed the floor to squeeze the other man’s shoulder affectionately. Narrowing his gaze, he examined him searchingly.

‘Have you been okay? Dolores tells me that she’s been making sure you’ve been eating well and are getting as much rest as possible. I trust that there’s been no more chest pain or anything like that?’

Alberto scowled. ‘Between the two of you, you make me feel like a sick child who needs round-the-clock care! Now, instead of fussing over me, why don’t you sit down and tell me all about your trip to Brazil. Was it worthwhile?’

His son grinned. ‘Need you ask? You should know by now that I never embark on a business trip that isn’t fruitful!’

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD BEEN a long time since Bastian had been up this way to look at their properties. And even though he knew their caretaker Mario made sure that everything was kept in tip-top condition, Bastian was surprised to see how homely this particular rental house looked.

It was built in the style of a traditional Italian farmhouse, and inside the old-fashioned brick ceilings had been restored and a tasteful degree of modernity added. The kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms were particularly spacious, and the sea views spectacular.

Outside, at the front of the house, he could see that the earth in between the concrete slabs they’d had laid looked to be recently dug over, ready for planting. Already some bulbs had been bedded in and had started to sprout. There were tantalising glimpses of pink, blue and yellow blooms. Most of the frontage had been pragmatically concreted into a patio...they hadn’t had flowerbeds there for a long time.

Was Lily responsible for this very satisfying new arrangement? He knew Mario would never have taken it upon himself to do such a thing without discussing it with him first...

Rubbing a hand round his jaw, Bastian was still mulling over the changes as he nimbly negotiated the steps to the front door and was surprised to find it open. With a brisk knock against the wood panelling, he put his head round the door.

‘Anybody home?’ he called out, first in his native Italian and then in English.

‘Is that you, Alberto? Just give me a minute, will you? I’m in the middle of something...’

At the sound of the voice he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d been longing to hear, he stepped inside. His pretty tenant was seated with her back to him at the rustic chestnut desk he’d installed long ago, her pencil deftly moving across a large sheet of paper on a drawing board, clearly intent on concentrating.

Her sunlit hair was scooped up behind her head with a simply knotted scarf fashioned out of some emerald-green gauze, and it exposed the lovely ballerina-like slope of her neck. He stilled for a moment, aching to touch his lips to that flawless and inviting bare skin. Thankfully he controlled the impulse just in time, because Lily suddenly turned round and saw him.

Immediately colouring, she said, ‘Signor Carrera... I didn’t know you were back from your trip. When did you return?’

Dropping her pencil onto her sketch pad, she got to her feet, unconsciously smoothing her hand over her hair. Today she was wearing a sleeveless white top that exposed her delicately tanned slim arms, teamed with apricot silk palazzo pants that rippled like the gentlest of streams when she moved.

Bastian tried doubly hard to keep his desire at bay.

‘Yesterday...in the early hours of the morning.’

‘Then no doubt you must still be feeling quite tired?’

‘Not at all...the thought of coming home always helps revitalise me.’

‘Well, I...’ Flushing a little, she gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’

‘No. There’s nothing I want right now.’ Except you, his mind flashed. ‘How do you like your new accommodation?’

‘I love it. I don’t know why I worried so much about moving.’

‘Good—that pleases me. I can see that you’re working. Mind if I take a look?’

‘Be my guest. It’s an illustration I’m doing for a new book,’

As she stood back to let him draw closer Bastian breathed in the intoxicating scent that indelibly clung to her. It reminded him of all the good things in life that he loved combined... How could he have forgotten it after the intimacy they had shared?

Even as his blood heated at the memory his gaze fell on the captivating sketch of a tortoiseshell cat with enormous green eyes and an exaggerated suggestion of determination on its face.

‘Is this for someone else’s story or one of your own?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes, I think it does. It’s very good, but I’d rather it was for one of yours.’

‘Why?’

He folded his arms and looked at her...really looked at her...almost as if for the very first time. His examining gaze reunited him with the reality of her beauty and grace and, whilst he’d never been possessive about women before, the pleasure and satisfaction that coursed through his veins at knowing he’d made her his, couldn’t be measured.

‘Two reasons. First because it reminds me of you, and I’m guessing any stories you write must equal your drawing talent, and second because it’s too good to give to someone else.’

Feeling undeniably self-conscious, she nodded. ‘Well, you’ve guessed right. I took your advice and this is an illustration for one of my own stories.’

‘So you have taken up your writing more seriously?’

‘Let’s say I’m trying to.’

‘And what’s this expression of determination on the cat’s face about?’ The corners of his mouth lifted in gentle amusement.

‘You’ll have to read the book to find out. That is if it’s published.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be when, going by this engaging illustration, you clearly know how to bring a children’s story to life? What’s the title?’

‘If I had my way I’d like it to be called There’s No Such Word as Can’t.’

‘Is that a piece of advice you were given growing up?’

With an awkward shrug of her slim shoulders Lily tried for a smile but didn’t quite manage it.

‘Yes...but I haven’t always been able to apply it. My teacher once said it to me on a school trip to France, when I woke her up in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid of the dark, you see. After telling me there was nothing to fear, and that soon I would be back home and wishing I’d enjoyed the trip more instead of worrying, she told me to go back to bed and try harder to get some sleep. That’s when I said, I can’t.’

‘How old were you at the time, Lily?’

‘About nine or ten.’

‘Being away from home at that age would be bound to make most children anxious. I’m sure you weren’t alone in feeling that.’

She frowned. ‘The other girls in my room didn’t seem to have a problem. The thing is... I should have been braver. I felt like such an idiot.’

‘You were no such thing,’ Bastian said firmly. ‘You were just a child. Anyway, I don’t doubt your teacher’s comment helped you because you remembered it. Perhaps you’re more determined to overcome your fears now, yes?’

‘I’d like to think so.’

‘It seems to me that a lack of belief in yourself is what hurts you the most, Lily.’

‘How do you know so much about me when we’ve only just met?’

Her near-whispered response was tentative. And even the air around them just then felt as if it was holding its breath, loaded as it was with a peculiar kind of danger that only they knew the reason for. Bastian was quite aware that the inevitable discussion that loomed was as potentially threatening as a hand grenade thrown into the room.

‘Mind if I change my mind about that drink you offered?’ he asked.

‘Not at all—what would you like?’

‘A cup of coffee would be good. Black, one sugar.’

‘I’ll see to it. Why don’t you sit down?’

He elected to sit in the armchair, judging it to be safer than the couch after what had happened before. But his mouth was dry as sand as he waited for her to return with their drinks, and he still didn’t know what he was going to say.

How could he explain the reason for what had seemed inevitable as soon their eyes had met?

Besides, Lily was not simply some pretty young woman he’d had an inconsequential tumble with that he could put down to experience and quickly forget. Their connection had gone way deeper than that, and as a consequence she had really got into his blood...

‘Here you are. I hope I haven’t made it too strong for you?’

Carrying both their drinks over to the generous-sized occasional table, his hostess turned one of the mugs towards him then sat down on the sofa.

‘Grazie.’ Smiling, he took a sip. ‘Perfetto...you have made it just how I like it.’

Sounding relieved, she murmured, ‘I’m glad. So, how did your business trip go?’

She was just making small-talk, but she couldn’t disguise her tension and Bastian easily detected it. Coming to a sudden decision, he returned his mug to the table. Then, drawing the back of his hand across his lips, he leant forward to meet her gaze candidly.

‘We won’t waste any more time talking about my trip. You and I both know we have to discuss what happened before I left,’

Of all the scenarios she’d imagined for when her charismatic landlord returned, Lily had not envisaged him being so blunt. As if to heighten her predicament, an unhelpful wave of nausea rolled through her just then. The strong scent of the herbal tea she’d made seemed to be making her feel queasy.

Returning the offending brew to the table, she sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her waist. She wasn’t showing yet, but in a couple more months she would be. Her breasts already felt noticeably heavier.

Lifting her gaze, she carefully examined her companion. How could she have forgotten for even a second how handsome he was? With his curling dark hair, seductive long-lashed brown eyes and the fit, muscular body that was clearly no stranger to working the land, she could tell his occupation had helped to make him fit and strong. In another age he would have been in demand to sit for any of the great artists or sculptors, she was sure...

‘I don’t know quite what you’re expecting me to say, Signor Carrera...’

There was a flash of amusement in his dark eyes at her formal address. ‘So we’re back on landlord and tenant terms, are we? I’m asking if you’ve had any further thoughts about what happened between us...or have you assumed we’ll carry on as though nothing remotely out of the ordinary happened at all?’

Lily didn’t have a prayer of behaving as if the memory didn’t disturb her. She’d sensed the heat rise in her cheeks the instant she’d realised her unexpected caller wasn’t Alberto but instead his compellingly attractive son. Many times she’d fantasised about what she would say when she saw him again, but now she was tongue-tied and awkward. Particularly because she yet had to tell him about the far-reaching consequences of their brief but unplanned afternoon of pleasure.

‘I’m not saying we should act as if nothing happened. To tell you the truth, we can’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

Her insides were churning with crazy feelings of hope mingled with anxiety. Seeing Bastian again, the last thing...the very last thing she could do was pretend indifference to the situation.

‘Are you trying to tell me that there’s someone else on the scene? Is that why you want to forget about what happened?’

The affront in his voice took her aback. Tucking a stray strand of pale gold hair back into her bun, from where it had drifted free, it wasn’t easy to keep her hands from trembling.

‘There isn’t anyone else...and I can hardly forget what happened when—’

‘When what?’ He leant forward, his hands on his knees as if he were immediately ready to spring to his feet and confront anything he found remotely disagreeable.

Understandably nervous, her heart racing like a greyhound’s as it came out of the trap, Lily lifted her head and bravely met the Italian’s glowering stare.

This was no time to give way to fear, she told herself.

‘When I find myself expecting your baby.’

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