Happy Mother's Day!

AISLING’S head pounded.

Unsteadily, she rose from her chair to close the blinds in her office, and the unanswerable question spun round and round in her head like dirty water whirling down the plug-hole.

Oh, what had she done?

Nearly a month had elapsed since she had woken up in Gianluca’s bed—or rather on Gianluca’s bed, she corrected herself, and flinched. There was no point in giving the incident an air of respectability which it certainly didn’t merit. Saying that they had been in bed might have implied that there’d been a little forethought about that wild bout of sex, instead of the stark and unpalatable truth.

That she’d had a one-night stand with a client!

Aisling’s palms felt clammy as she sat down at her desk once more.

What kind of a woman did that? Risking everything she’d worked so hard for. Especially a woman who had known real poverty when she was growing up—who had learnt the hard way that you couldn’t rely on anyone except yourself to earn a living.

Her mother had always put men before everything—even her daughter. Janie Armstrong had sacrificed everything in her futile search for love. Jobs had gone by the wayside and she and Aisling had moved around the country—relocating at the drop of a hat if there was some promise of emotional happiness, which had never seemed to materialise.

Time after time, Aisling had seen her mother let down by a man—and time after time she had repeated the same needy and dependent behaviour which had seemed to drive the men further away. As her beauty had faded, so had the opportunities—and that had bred a new desperation.

Aisling had vowed to be different. That was the reason she had slaved away to establish her business, why she had put her social life on hold, working long hours to build up her small but thriving firm which now employed three people. A firm she had been so proud of—but which must now surely be threatened by a single act of madness?

How terrifying it was to discover this dark and un

known side to her character. Maybe she carried more of her mother’s traits than she had previously imagined.

After leaving Gianluca’s vineyard, Aisling had caught the London-bound flight from Rome airport with minutes to spare. She’d left Gianluca’s car in the underground car park of the Palladio Corporation, deposited the car keys with his bemused secretary and walked out with a feeling of terrible remorse making her cheeks sting pink.

Next there had been Jason to face—and that had been Aisling’s first real test of mental determination. How much was it permissible to pretend when facing your young assistant, to whom you were supposed to be setting a good example? She didn’t want to lie—but how could she tell him the truth when, if the situation were reversed, she would have sacked him on the spot? There was nothing to be gained from showing her embarrassment and her guilt—she was just going to have to live with them. As it was, her former prim and proper image stood her in good stead.

‘Whatever happened to you?’ Jason asked curiously. ‘One minute you were there—and the next you were gone!’

‘Oh, Gianluca gave me a tour of the property—and we ended up talking about business,’ she answered quietly, her blue eyes just daring him to say any more on the subject, and to her relief he didn’t. Quite what Jason thought about it all only added to her discomfiture, but frankly she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of wallowing in self-pity.

For days, Aisling waited.

At first she wasn’t really sure what she was waiting for—until she woke up one morning after a night spent tossing and turning and realised that she was in fact waiting to hear from Gianluca. They still had a meeting scheduled to discuss his Miami project, didn’t they? Her guilty conscience had made her assume that he would want to pull out of it—and that he would take great delight in telling her exactly why. But she was wrong.

There was nothing. Not a word, a phone call or e-mail to cancel—and somehow this only compounded her silent sense of agony and self-recrimination. Was he planning to send someone else from the Palladio Corporation in his place? she wondered.

And it wasn’t until her period arrived that Aisling realised she had been waiting for something else, too—the reassurance that there weren’t to be any lasting repercussions from that night of passion. And thank God, there weren’t.

But her behaviour made her think—logically, rather than emotionally. It shocked her into making an appointment at the family planning clinic. Because, yes, Gianluca had used protection—but what if he hadn’t had any? She had been so caught up in mindless need for him that she’d been beyond caring—and, whether or not that was the Palladio effect, she didn’t dare risk it happening again. A one-night stand was bad enough—an unplanned pregnancy would be unforgivable. And then there was the troublesome question of their upcoming appointment and how she might react if Gianluca turned up and tried to seduce her. Would she honestly be able to resist him?

The phone on her desk rang and Aisling picked it up.

‘Aisling Armstrong here,’ she said.

It was Ginger Jones, her secretary, who had taken to looking at her with frowning concern ever since she’d returned from Rome, even if she hadn’t quite had the nerve to ask her if anything was wrong. Unlike Suzy, who had been fishing like mad—but Aisling had deflected all her questions without blushing.

‘There’s someone here to see you,’ Ginger announced.

Aisling frowned as she scanned the appointments page of her diary. ‘But I don’t have anything scheduled.’ And it was almost seven o’clock. It had been a long day, which had started with a breakfast meeting, and she wanted nothing more than a bath and to pick at some food and then go to bed and pray for the oblivion of sleep.

‘I know that,’ said Ginger rather dramatically, and something in the tone of her voice made the small hairs on the back of Aisling’s neck prickle with apprehension.

‘Who is it?’ she questioned hoarsely.

‘Signor Palladio.’

Aisling gripped the phone so hard that her knuckles turned the colour of milk. ‘But his appointment isn’t until next week,’ she said hoarsely. An appointment she had been expecting and praying that he would cancel. And praying that he wouldn’t.