The Italian's Baby of Passion: The Italian's Secret Baby / One-Night Baby / The Italian's Secret Child

CHAPTER FOUR

ROMAN glanced at his watch, his eyes slightly narrowed. If he could get the Scarlet Smith thing sorted before lunch he could fly back out to Dublin and join Alice, who was already there.

That was the best scenario, but if things did run over he didn’t begrudge the time, not if the end result made his mother happy. Not as happy as being a grandmother would, but his sense of filial duty had limits.

It did not cross his mind for one second that his mother was correct. There was no possibility he had fathered a child. He had been many things in his life, but careless was not one of them.

Not a man given to moody introspection he turned his mind to the pivotal meeting in Dublin later that evening.

Scarlet tapped on the door half hoping that nobody would reply to her timid knock. Nobody did, but the door, already half ajar, swung open. The man revealed standing there, running a long brown finger down the spine of a leather-bound book, seemed oblivious to her presence.

She cleared her throat and his head turned. Dark lashes lifted to reveal eyes that were one shade short of pitch-black and flecked with tiny golden lights. Scarlet’s eyes slid away from the most piercing regard she had ever encountered.

She gulped as her heart made a concerted effort to escape the confines of her chest.

In profile he was perfect; an overused term but more than justified on this occasion. Face on, only a purist would have claimed the fine scar that ran from one razor-sharp cheekbone to just below his eye marred the effect.

Scarlet wasn’t that purist!

Roman’s immediate thought as he stared at the diminutive brown-haired figure hovering uncertainly in the doorway was, there must be some mistake. Realistically, he hadn’t actually been expecting some blonde goddess with endless legs, but this?

The indentation between his eyebrows deepened, the woman he had spoken to on the phone had come across as gutsy and unafraid to speak her mind, not to mention bloody-minded, but this woman looked scared of her own shadow! She couldn’t even meet his eyes!

He experienced an unexpected pang of disappointment.

‘Mr O’Hagan…?’ Scarlet repeated when he didn’t respond.

Great, I’ve struck him dumb, but not with my ravishing beauty!

‘Mr O’Hagan, I understand you wanted to speak to me?’

The voice emerging from the slight frame was right, unexpectedly deep and husky with a sexy little rasp, but everything else was wrong, including the scared way she was not quite looking him in the eye and the tongue-tied routine.

Nice voice, shame about everything else.

‘Miss Smith?’

Scarlet nodded, and resisted the aggravating impulse to apologise for her appearance.

‘Why don’t you come in and sit down?’

‘I’m fine here.’

He looked at her impatiently. ‘I don’t bite.’

She flushed at the satirical note in his voice and realised she must look an idiot standing there as if she was ready to run. Straightening her shoulders, Scarlet overcame the strange reluctance she was experiencing to close the door.

She’d been in the room before and it wasn’t exactly cramped—her own office would have fitted in it ten times over—but she was experiencing an almost claustrophobic sensation that involved a tightening in the pit of her stomach and an overwhelming desire to turn and run.

The man was here to say thank you, not interrogate her, or even sue her, unless his mother had suffered a relapse? He didn’t give a damn what she looked like, so why the sudden panic attack? She didn’t subscribe to the populist celebrity culture and was not overawed or impressed just because someone had fame and money. She was neither shy nor lacking in confidence so her irrational nervousness on this occasion annoyed her.

‘So, we meet at last.’

Head down, she nodded.

His mother had thought he had slept with this woman?

He repressed a fastidious wince as he checked out the fashion black spot she represented.

He knew women who could look good in the proverbial sack, but this woman wasn’t one of that number. That tunic checked shirt thing almost reached her knees, but at least it covered most of the appalling, baggy track-suit joggers she had teamed it with. There was nothing intrinsically dreadful about the sensible flat leather shoes that completed the ensemble, but they didn’t do anything to disguise the fact she was small and shapeless.

Who knew what lurked under the androgynous outfit? He, for one, felt no compelling urge to find out. Though he would have liked to bin the outrageously unattractive glasses she wore, which concealed most of her features, simply on the grounds that they were criminally ugly.

Scarlet stood there miserably while his veiled gaze moved over her. He was suitably enigmatic, but not enigmatic enough to prevent Scarlet getting the impression she hadn’t lived up to the billing his mother had given her.

She gave a mental shrug…ah, well, she could live with that!

Standing next to him, even if she had been looking her best, she would have felt plain and unkempt. Six feet four inches, give or take an inch, of spectacular male perfection. He more than lived up to his billing. Unbelievably he was even better looking in the flesh than in print!

She responded on two levels to this discovery. On the one hand she was disappointed at being robbed of the opportunity to confide derisively to her friends, It’s all airbrushing, you know, he’s not nearly as attractive as he looks in the magazines!

On the other level she responded as any woman would being faced with the most sinfully sexy man she had ever seen—or even imagined seeing!

‘Miss Scarlet Smith?’ Smith was a common name; maybe this was the wrong one? She had the awkward slightly bemused manner of someone who had walked into the wrong office. ‘You do know who I am?’

Didn’t everyone? Her lowered gaze lifted. Maybe that was his problem; she hadn’t asked for his autograph yet.

‘I’m Scarlet. The vice-chancellor said you wanted to see me, Mr O’Hagan.’

A small derisive smile formed on her wide and expressive mouth; after their conversation she wasn’t surprised to discover he was the type who thrived on public recognition and got irritated when he didn’t receive it.

Well, promise to David or not, Mr. O’Hagan was about to learn she was not one of that creepy boot-licking number!

Her lips parted to ask if he wouldn’t mind keeping it brief when his dark eyes locked onto her own.

Scarlet breathed in sharply and promptly forgot what she was going to say. He really did have the most stunning eyes she’d ever seen, deep chocolate-brown, but not like the sweet milk chocolate she adored, but the dark variety that was too bitter for her palate. For a bemused moment she just stared into those dark, mesmerising topaz-flecked depths before pulling clear and closing her mouth with an audible click.

She gave a smile heavy on serene self-possession to correct any impression he might have got that she was a silly, drooling female. The last thing she wanted was to be heaped together with those adoring hordes.

Dating the rich and photogenic Roman O’Hagan had kick-started the career of many a would-be celebrity, and the women who weren’t notorious before they shared the spotlight he lived in definitely were at the end of it!

However, considering her own involuntary fit of the fluttery females, Scarlet was now willing to consider that there might have been a few takers whose motives hadn’t been purely mercenary.

Maybe it was the dark, smouldering thing, she mused, because, despite his mixed ancestry, Roman O’Hagan’s features, colouring and innate elegance were very much that of the Latin male, as was the devastating raw masculinity he projected.

The clothes helped, of course, she decided scornfully as she put a mental price tag on the pale grey impeccably tailored grey suit he wore teamed with a black silky polo shirt open at the neck. Italian men were notoriously vain and she doubted this one could pass a reflective surface without checking himself out. The catty postscript made her feel better about being unable to find a flaw in his tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped athletic frame.

Power, money and a good suit—maybe she wasn’t so different from everyone else easily impressed by the trappings of privilege…?

The suit or the man inside it? It’s not his position on the social register that’s got you hot!

Turning a deaf ear to the debate going on in her head, Scarlet turned her thoughts to her more immediate problem. After a moment’s further deliberation she decided against shaking hands; if he didn’t accept her hand she was going to look pretty silly and nothing about him suggested he would welcome the gesture.

She decided it would be best all round if she hurried proceedings along.

‘How is Mrs O’Hagan?’ Scarlet found it a relief to be able to sound genuinely sincere about something. ‘Is she feeling better? She’s not had a relapse or anything?’

‘She is very much better, thank you, and I’m not contemplating any immediate legal action.’

‘That’s just as well because I’ve got no assets for you to strip.’ You only had to look at the man to see his business tactics were every bit as unscrupulous as his rivals suggested.

A flicker of renewed interest appeared in Roman’s deep-set eyes. Now that, he decided, sounded much more like the girl he had spoken to on the phone.

‘You take an interest in business? I got my MBA from Harvard; where did you get yours?’

‘The London School of Economics,’ she responded automatically.

Her reply might not have wiped the supercilious smirk off his face, but at least she had the pleasure of seeing him look mildly taken aback.

‘You’re trying to tell me that you’ve got a Masters in Business Administration?’

He had one of those perfectly straight patrician noses that had been specifically designed to sneer down at lesser mortals. Scarlet would dearly have liked to punch it. Physical violence not being an option, she had to fall back on giving as good as she got in the sarcasm stakes.

‘Actually I have, but it’s not the sort of thing I’d normally drop into the conversation, because it might sound a bit pretentious.’ She widened her eyes and adopted an expression of kittenish innocence. ‘Don’t you think?’ she appealed to him. ‘And,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘that sort of showing off might lead people to think I had a self-esteem issue.’

The stunned look in his eyes gave her a moment’s intense, gleeful satisfaction.

‘I doubt anyone is going to think you have a self-esteem issue,’ Roman mused after a moment of startled, static silence. Whatever the hunched-shoulder stuff had been about, it had not been a confidence issue; her present manner made that obvious.

She inclined her head and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, even though she was well aware his comment hadn’t been meant as a compliment.

‘Perhaps I didn’t get this right. I thought you worked in the nursery?’

‘I’m a nursery nurse,’ she agreed with pride.

‘Aren’t you a little overqualified for the job?’

He stopped short of calling her a liar, but she could hear the amused scepticism in his voice. It was only by exerting superhuman restraint that Scarlet stopped herself supplying the names of referees who could confirm her qualifications and tell him how good she had been at her job.

‘Actually I was under-qualified,’ she explained calmly. ‘I retrained. I was looking for job satisfaction.’

‘Good for you!’ he applauded with teeth-clenching insincerity. ‘I’ve always said there’s no shame in admitting you can’t hack it.’

Scarlet’s cheek muscles ached from maintaining a fixed smile. ‘You have no idea how much I value your opinion.’

‘I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea,’ he returned drily. ‘I believe you were very kind to my mother.’

‘She’s easy to be nice to; she’s nice…’ Scarlet literally bit her tongue to stop the flow of insults.

One perfectly symmetrical brow dark against his even-toned golden skin lifted to a politely interrogative angle.

‘A very nice woman indeed,’ Scarlet mumbled indistinctly.

She’d promised David—gosh, that seemed a lifetime ago now, not a few minutes—that she’d be on her best behaviour. Cutting the wretched man down to size was a self-indulgence she simply couldn’t afford. It was also something she might not be capable of, she conceded.

Scarlet paused for a moment to consider her reckless behaviour objectively. The exercise gave rise to deep concern as she identified a worrying development, the adrenaline rush, the toe curling excitement she got from trading insults with him had a bizarrely addictive quality.

‘She was full of praise for you.’

‘She’s kind; I hardly did anything,’ she replied with suitable modesty, and for the second time that morning she had no argument. ‘Not even call for an ambulance.’ You just couldn’t leave well alone, could you, Scarlet?

‘Well, the best of us panic in a situation like that.’

‘That’s extremely understanding of you, but—’

‘Yes, it is nice of me, isn’t it? My assistant is worried I’ll make you cry.’

‘But,’ she added, sending him a glare of simmering dislike, ‘I didn’t panic!’ Scarlet announced, her chin lifting. ‘Cry…?’ she added as his last comment sank in. ‘I’m not going to cry!’ she said, sounding insulted by the suggestion.

‘I’m extremely relieved to hear it.’ His dark head tilted a little to one side as he examined her flushed, indignant face. ‘So you think you made the right call, then, and you’re prepared to defend your action, or rather lack of it?’

‘Of course I didn’t make the right call,’ she surprised him by conceding with a grimace.

‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘that wasn’t because I panicked, it was because I took notice of—’ She stopped abruptly, not wanting him to run away with the idea she was trying to pass the blame to someone else. ‘Is this an official complaint? Because if it is I don’t think you should be talking to me.’

‘It isn’t a complaint, official or otherwise, unless you particularly want it to be.’

Scarlet’s jaw tightened at the blatant sarcasm in his voice. ‘Then you came to apologise for being so rude to me?’ she suggested innocently.

The hooded lids lowered in a lazy fashion but there was nothing remotely lazy about the spark in his eyes. ‘Pushing it.’

Scarlet conceded this lightest of warning with a shrug and rubbed the goose-bumps that had broken out over her forearms. When his voice dropped to a husky murmur that way it had an almost tactile quality.

She had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t have minded it if she had ignored him. Roman O’Hagan was coming across as a man who enjoyed a fight and enjoyed winning even more. She could see why he didn’t lose often, his dark eyes contained a gleam in them that suggested he had the intelligence to match his stunning looks.

The idea of pulverising him verbally was still an awfully attractive one, if deeply unrealistic.

‘You made quite an impression on my mother…you and your little daughter…?’ As this was just a matter of going through the motions there didn’t seem to be any need to be overly subtle about introducing the child into the conversation, Roman thought.

‘Son.’

‘Right,’ he drawled.

He couldn’t have sounded less interested. It wouldn’t take much effort to make it a little less obvious he was here under sufferance, Scarlet thought, pursing her lips indignantly. ‘Sam,’ she supplied.

Roman watched her face soften unconsciously as she said the kid’s name and thought, She isn’t actually that bad-looking. His long lashes lowered, half concealing his eyes as he considered her small heart-shaped face—good skin, nice hair; it was a shame about the glasses, and of course the bizarre sense of style.

But he wasn’t here to organise a make-over, he reminded himself. He was here to convince his mother she didn’t have any grandchildren running around the country.

‘My mother was concerned her collapse might have alarmed…Sam.’

‘He didn’t take it personally.’ Her attempt at levity didn’t evoke any response. God, this was heavy going. He had two modes; silent and nastily sarcastic. Clearly scintillating conversational skills were not part of his attraction! But then she already knew that his attraction was much more basic.

Her bland smile became strained as she ran her tongue across her dry lips and swallowed to relieve the nervous occlusion tightening her throat. ‘Tell her he’s fine.’ Oh, God, please let this be over soon.

Her hazel eyes flickered to her wrist-watch. Ten minutes to lunch time, one of the busiest times of the day in the nursery. She shifted her weight restively from one leg to the other and repressed a sigh as she lifted her head.

She flushed lightly as Roman O’Hagan angled his sable brows expressively.

‘Sorry, I should be somewhere else,’ she explained, trying hard to make it sound as if this were something she was sorry about.

‘Am I boring you?’ Women didn’t make a habit of looking at their watches when they were in his company. ‘Or should I have made an appointment?’

The sardonic note in his rich velvet voice brought the colour rushing back to her cheeks.

‘Well, if I’d had a little warning I could have told you that today isn’t very convenient,’ Scarlet agreed bluntly. ‘I realise,’ she added, ‘that my time isn’t as valuable as yours…’ It was the total shock she saw momentarily flicker in his eyes that halted the flow of indiscreet observations.

What’s wrong with me? I told David I’d be nice to him. It’s not like it requires any great skill, just an ability to keep my mouth shut. Getting herself out of this one was going to require some quick thinking, or talking at least.

‘Which, of course, it isn’t. I’m sure an hour of your time would cost me loads, whereas I only get paid…but I don’t suppose you get paid by the hour. And I don’t want an hour of it or even five minutes, though it’s obviously been an enormous thrill to meet you.’ Was that obsequious enough? She lifted a weary hand to her head. Oh, God…! Do I sound as much of a blithering idiot as I feel?

‘I’m delighted you’re thrilled.’

I might die of humiliation, she decided, listening to the amusement in his deep voice.

‘And I’m sorry if this is inconvenient,’ he continued, ‘but the vice-chancellor said there would be no problem.’

‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he? You’re influential and rich and…’ Her scornful observation faded as their glances meshed once again. ‘That is, you’re…sorry.’ She managed to force her lips into a stiff smile. ‘That was rude.’

‘Yes, it was.’ It was hard to tell from his languid agreement if he was annoyed or amused.

David will kill me. She exhaled noisily and ran her hands, palm-flat, over her face in a brisk scrubbing motion.

‘I get the impression you’re having a bad day?’

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked gloomily.

A laugh was drawn from his beautifully tanned throat. Scarlet lifted her face, startled by the deeply attractive sound. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing very white in his dark face. She blinked—for a moment he had reminded her of Sam; the fleeting similarity made her almost feel disposed to think he might not be quite the monster she had imagined.

‘Well, if you carry on like this on a regular basis I can’t imagine they’d carry on paying you that enormous salary you spoke of.’

She let her hands fall away and shook her head. ‘I earn every penny I make. Especially today.’

‘What’s happened to make this a bad day?’

‘You…well, not just you,’ she added with a self-condemnatory grimace. ‘And I don’t mean you personally, it’s just I didn’t like leaving the staff to struggle. I’ve been putting in lots of extra hours this week to cover for sickness.’

‘And what happens if you get sick?’

‘Oh, I never get sick.’

Her solemn conviction struck him as funny. She must have picked up on his amusement because she added defensively. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was ill.’

‘Aren’t you afraid of tempting fate?’

Scarlet suspected he was making fun of her. ‘I’m not superstitious,’ she told him her expression contemptuous.

‘You’ve never pinched spilt salt over your shoulder, or counted magpies in a field, or crossed your fingers for luck?’

She shook her head. ‘Of course not. Don’t you believe me?’

‘I think everyone’s superstitious deep down; it’s human nature.’

This point of view amazed her. ‘You’re superstitious?’ she asked incredulously.

‘My father’s Irish, my mother’s Italian—the odds were stacked.’ His broad shoulders lifted. ‘What choice do I have?’

‘Well, I’m not superstitious, but I am really glad that your mother is better.’

‘But you’ve somewhere else you need to be,’ he completed smoothly.

It would be overstating it to call the glint in his eyes annoyance, but…! She probably was making the fact she couldn’t stick being in his company a bit obvious.

‘That’s very understanding of you, Mr O’Hagan.’

‘Perhaps we could continue our discussion over lunch?’

Scarlet heard his voice through a faint buzz in her ears as she tried to contemplate what he’d just said.

‘Lunch…?’ she parroted vaguely.

Best to look on this as a reflex—her hormones had gone into primitive autopilot mode and were acting independently of her brain. Hence the weakness in her legs, the warm heat thrumming through her body and the painful spasms knotting her stomach. He was an attractive man, end of story, no need to complicate it further.

‘Bring your son, by all means.’

‘Discussion?’ There seemed to be a time delay in her ability to translate what he was saying. ‘We weren’t having a discussion.’ Her straight brows arranged themselves in an interrogative line. ‘Lunch!’

There’s no such thing as a free lunch!

‘Good God, no!’

His eyes widened fractionally, but other than that nothing in his manner revealed his reaction to her response. It wasn’t that he was conceited, but a lifetime of being pursued and flattered by women had left Roman ill prepared to have an invitation of lunch rejected in an attitude of blatant revulsion.

‘Well, I know where to come if I need my ego deflated.’

Belatedly Scarlet recalled her promise to David. She tried to soften her blunt reply.

‘That is…it’s very kind of you to offer,’ she added, even though every instinct told her this was not a man predisposed to be kind.

She just stopped herself lifting her hand, which would have drawn attention to her face, which felt as though it were on fire. This was a man who never did anything without a reason. Which left the question, why had he asked her to lunch? Did he have some elaborate punishment in mind because she had answered back to him on the phone?

‘Like I said the flu epidemic has left us very short-staffed today.’

‘But otherwise you’d have been delighted to come?’

In face of this sardonic observation it took all of Scarlet’s will-power to conceal her feelings behind a blank expression.

What were her feelings? In one word—shallow; this was biology at its most basic. She knew what lust felt like, and never had it been less welcome or so extreme, but when you came right down to it she really shouldn’t have been letting it get to her this way. There was absolutely no need to stress; it wasn’t as if she’d never felt sexual attraction before. She knew about the tightening in her stomach and the rest; it was a biological response—like sneezing.

She took a deep breath and was conscious of the fabric of her borrowed top chafing against her erect nipples; lower, the tell-tale liquid heat was even more of a give-away. Sneezing? Maybe not the best analogy.