The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

‘I need to see you,’ he told her. ‘Right now.’

‘I’ve got a stack of work to do, Riccardo. Can it wait until later?’ Having lunch with Ben had been a good idea. Charlotte felt calmer now, more resigned to her destiny. She couldn’t resist Riccardo, and that being the case then she would have to stop acting as though the world had caved in. No one was more pitiful than the person who moped around feeling sorry for herself. She had made her choice and she would live with it and accept its limitations.

‘No. Do you want me to meet you at your office?’

‘No,’ Charlotte said hurriedly, shuddering at the thought of every member of staff subjecting them to in-depth scrutiny. ‘Where are you now?’

‘Regent’s Park.’

‘You’re in Regent’s Park?’

‘You can always come here, but it’s a dreary day to be outside.’

‘Okay. I’ll meet you at the house. I can bring some of this work back with me and do it later after Gina’s gone to bed. Is…is everything okay?’

‘No. But I’ll explain when I see you.’

It was so unlike Riccardo to say something like that that Charlotte felt a flutter of fear. She couldn’t pack her things up fast enough, and on the Tube back her head was filled with sickening scenarios. Had he changed his mind about marrying her? Maybe her behaviour had finally turned him off. Maybe sleeping with a woman while suspecting she didn’t like him had awakened in him the obvious desire to have more than just a body. She had lain in his arms and still kept him at a distance. She had been aware of doing that, and now she wondered whether he had finally got fed up with her sour grapes. He wasn’t to know that she’d just been trying to protect herself.

Or maybe he was ill. That disturbing thought sneaked its way into her subconscious, and once there refused to go away. Why else would he have been at Regent’s Park, of all places? If there was something seriously wrong with him, then what better place for peace, to think things through?

From these two scenarios, worrying offshoots wreaked havoc with her nervous system, and she was white-faced by the time she made it to the house and let herself in.

‘I’m in here.’

Charlotte dropped her bag and briefcase and kicked off her shoes. She found him in the sitting room, lights off, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked at her, then back at the coffee, as if hoping to find inspiration in the mug, like a reader of tea leaves.

‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded. ‘Why were you sitting in Regent’s Park at this time of day?’

‘Sit down.’ He watched as she scuttled across to the chair. Yes, she could melt in his arms, had melted in his arms, because she couldn’t resist his touch, but what good was that when she still shied away from him like a scared rabbit whenever he wasn’t touching her? He thought with regret of how she had wanted him all those years ago and how he had thrown it all away because his bright, glittering future had had no place for her at that time. Now, ensconced in his bright, glittering future, he could only think how much he wanted that girl back, the one who curved willingly into his arms and would never have sat watching him cautiously from the furthest possible chair, her body language stiff with tension.

‘I came to your office today.’ He stood up abruptly, wishing to God he had had the sense to have poured himself something a little stronger than a cup of coffee.

‘You did? When? I didn’t see you.’

‘I was told that you had gone out for lunch.’

‘Oh, right. Yes.’ Charlotte thought uncomfortably about Ben and reddened.