The Italian's Christmas Secret

‘But you mentioned a stepmother?’

‘You mean the latest stepmother?’ he questioned cynically. ‘Number four in a long line of women who were brought in to try to replace the wife he lost.’

‘But...’ She hesitated. ‘None of them were able to do that?’

‘That depends on your definition. I’m sure each of them provided him with the creature comforts most men need, though each marriage ended acrimoniously and at great financial cost to him. That’s the way it goes, I guess.’ His hands tightened around the steering wheel. ‘But my mother would have been a hard act for any woman to follow—at least according to the people who knew her.’

‘What was she like?’ she prompted, and her voice was as gentle as he’d ever imagined a voice could be.

Matteo didn’t answer for a long time because this was something nobody ever really asked. A dead mother was just that. History. He couldn’t remember anyone else who’d ever shown any interest in her short life. He could feel the tight squeeze of his heart. ‘She was beautiful,’ he said eventually. ‘Both inside and out. She was training to be a doctor when she met my father—an only child from a very traditional Umbrian family who owned a great estate in the region.’

‘The farmhouse where we’ve been staying?’ she questioned slowly. ‘Is that...?’

He nodded. ‘Was where she grew up, sì.’

Keira nodded as slowly she began to understand. She gazed out of the window at the blue bowl of the sky. Did that explain his obvious love for the estate? she wondered. The last earthly link to his mum?

‘Does your father know?’ she questioned suddenly. ‘About Santino?’

‘Nobody knows,’ he said harshly. ‘And I won’t let it be known until we’ve come to some kind of united decision about the future.’

‘But a baby isn’t really the kind of thing you can keep secret. Won’t someone from the farm have told him? One of the staff?’

He shook his head. ‘Discretion is an essential quality for all the people who work for me and their first loyalty is to me. Anyway, my father isn’t interested in the estate, only as...’

‘Only as what?’ she prompted, her curiosity sharpened by the harsh note which had suddenly entered his voice.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. And I think we’ve had enough questions for today, don’t you?’ he drawled. He lifted one hand from the steering wheel to point straight ahead. ‘We’re skirting Rome now and if you look over there you’ll soon be able to see Lake Nemi.’

Her gaze followed the direction of his finger as she tried to concentrate. ‘And that’s where you live?’

‘That’s where I live,’ he agreed.

They didn’t say much for the rest of the journey, but at least Keira felt she knew a little more about him. And yet it was only a little. He had the air of the enigma about him. Something at the very core of him which was dark and unknowable and which seemed to keep her at arm’s length. Behind that formidable and sexy exterior lay a damaged man, she realised—and something about his inner darkness made her heart go out to him. Could they make it as a couple? she wondered as they drove through a beautiful sheltered valley and she saw the silver gleam of the lake. Would she be a fool to want that?

But the stupid thing was that, yes, she did want that, because if Santino was to have any kind of security—the kind she’d always longed for—then it would work best if they were a couple. Her living with Matteo Valenti as his lover and mother to his son...would that be such a bad thing?

Her daydreaming was cut short by her first sight of Matteo’s villa and she began to wonder if she was crazy to ever imagine she would fit in here. Overlooking Lake Nemi, the apricot-coloured house was three storeys high, with high curved windows overlooking acres of beautifully tended gardens. And she soon discovered that inside were countless rooms, including a marble-floored dining room and a ballroom complete with a lavish hand-painted ceiling. It felt more like being shown round a museum than a house. Never had her coat felt more threadbare or the cuffs more frayed as it was plucked from her nerveless fingers by a stern-faced butler named Roberto, who seemed to regard her with complete indifference. Was he wondering why his powerful employer had brought such a scruffy woman to this palace of a place? Keira swallowed. Wa

sn’t she wondering the same thing herself?

After ringing the farmhouse and being told by Paola that Santino was lying contentedly in his pram in the garden, Keira accepted the tiny cup of espresso offered by a maid in full uniform and sat down on a stiff and elegant chair to drink it. Trying to ignore the watchful darkness of Matteo’s eyes, she found herself thinking about the relaxed comfort of the farmhouse and felt a pang as she thought about her son, wondering if he would be missing his mama. As she drank her coffee she found herself glancing around at the beautiful but cavernous room and suppressed a shiver, wondering how much it must cost to heat a place this size.

‘Why do you live here?’ she questioned suddenly, lifting her gaze to the dark figure of the man who stood beside the vast fireplace.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I? It has a fresher climate than the city, particularly in the summer months when it can get very hot. And it’s a valuable piece of real estate.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ She licked her lips. ‘But it’s enormous for just one person! Don’t you rattle around in it?’

‘I’m not a total hermit, Keira,’ he said drily. ‘Sometimes I work from here—and, of course, I entertain.’

The question sprang from her lips before she could stop it. ‘And bring back loads of women, I expect?’

The look he shot her was mocking. ‘Do you want me to create the illusion that I’ve been living a celibate life all these years?’ he asked softly. ‘If sexual jealousy was the reason behind your question?’

‘It wasn’t!’ she denied, furious with herself for having asked it. Of course Matteo would have had hundreds of women streaming through these doors—and it wasn’t as if he were her boyfriend, was it? Her cheeks grew red. He never had been. He was just a man who could make her melt with a single look, no matter how much she fought against it. A man who had impregnated her without meaning to. And now he was observing her with that sexy smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he was perfectly aware that beneath her drab, chain-store sweater her breasts were hungering to feel his mouth on them again. She could feel her cheeks growing warm as she watched him answer his mobile phone to speak in rapid Italian and when he’d terminated the call he turned to look at her, his hard black eyes scanning over her.

‘The car is outside waiting to take you into the city centre,’ he said. ‘And the stylist will meet you there.’