The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

‘No!’

Riccardo put up both his hands in mock surrender. His curiosity was now seriously piqued.

‘I’m fine to drive back unescorted, thank you very much. I’ve done longer trips.’

‘And travelled back to London on the same day? When it’s getting dark? In that tiny little sewing-machine of yours?’

‘It’s very reliable!’

‘But not exactly equipped for long-distance driving.’

‘I don’t believe in great, big gas-guzzlers.’ She looked meaningfully at the great, big gas-guzzler parked behind him.

‘Yet in the event of an accident, on a dark road in the middle of winter, you might find yourself regretting that you cared more about the planet than your own safety. Is that a company car? If it is, then I think I shall have a word with that boss of yours, find out what he thinks he’s playing at, sending you all over the country in something that’s only fit for city driving…’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘You know, you should never mention my name and the word “dare” in the same breath…’

Charlotte wondered whether he was joking. It was hard to tell, because the light was so poor and she couldn’t read the expression on his face, but still a little whisper of danger fluttered along her spine.

‘Why are you so jittery?’ he asked curiously. Riccardo knew that this was a conversation that was going nowhere. She would drive off and so would he, and later he would just think of their meeting as one of life’s strange coincidences. But for the moment he had the strangest need to carry on talking to her. ‘I mean, it’s soon going to be dark.’ He shrugged, a casual, elegant movement that she remembered well. ‘So where’s the rush? Why don’t I take you out to dinner? You can continue ranting at me, and then when you’re through we can do some civilised catching up.’ Riccardo liked his use of the word ‘civilised’. It made him sound ferociously controlled, and papered over the alarming suspicion that for the first time in years he was not responding to a situation with his head. His head was definitely not telling him to ask out a woman who was treating him like an infectious disease.

‘Sorry, can’t.’ She opened her car door and flung her bag and briefcase in the passenger seat, then she clambered in. But before she could slam the door behind her he was there, propping it open with one lean, brown hand, and bending down to stare at her. And unfortunately for her, with the car light on, there was no way she could conceal the agitation on her face. She knew how she looked: red faced and as guilty as hell. Naturally he wouldn’t know why she looked guilty, but he would be curious, and even after all these long years she knew him well enough to realise that there was one trait he possessed which would surely not have changed—tenacity. He had always found pursuit in the face of a challenge very invigorating.

‘My boyfriend. Well, fiancé…’ She sat on her hands and crossed her fingers.

‘Ben with the nothing job.’

‘Actually, he’s a chartered surveyor. And—and you were right. He’s actually waiting for me. He’s cooked me a meal. He always does that whenever I happen to be on one of these jobs…you know…when I won’t be getting back until late. He’s a great cook. Loves it.’

Riccardo frowned heavily, and Charlotte, feeling a lot more comfortable now that she had established an alibi for her red face, laughed lightly and started her engine. ‘Yes, I know you’d probably disapprove. I guess, coming from that traditional Italian family of yours, you probably think men who cook are wimps, but there you go! Ben is a fantastic cook, and there’s nothing he enjoys more than looking after me!’