The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

He did. On the sofa and, later on, in his massive king-sized bed. It was only when the sunlight began to mellow behind the gauze curtains that Francesca glanced at her watch and let out a little yelp.

‘It’s after five!’

‘So what?’ So what? He had missed a string of appointments. A first for him. His mobile phone had probably been going mad in the pocket of his jacket downstairs. He didn’t care. For the first time in weeks he felt liberated and in control. He had acknowledged his feelings, acknowledged that the woman lying next to him, rather making a show of getting up, was the woman who still turned him on. He had wanted her and not simply to even scores or salve the ego that had been blasted to hell three years previously. He had just wanted her.

And now he could have her. He was a free man and he could have her without any uninvited feelings getting in the way of his enjoyment. He had told her just how it was, had left it up to her to decide whether she wanted to have a relationship with a man whose only feelings towards her were ones of lust and desire, had been more than prepared to shrug and walk away if she had turned him down. No questions asked, no blinding rages, no backward glance. Those times were long gone. He was a man utterly in control and it brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked lazily, dragging her back down on to the bed and propping himself up on one elbow to stare at her.

‘The day’s practically gone, Angelo! I had no idea how long we’d spent…I had stuff to do…’

‘So did I,’ Angelo pointed out. He feathered a kiss on her mouth and his satisfaction went up a couple of notches as she helplessly responded. Really, she should have stormed out on him the minute he told her that he had deliberately kept her in the dark about the broken engagement for no better reason than he had wanted to see just how much she wanted him. She should even now be at home, breathing fire at his arrogance. But here she was, proof that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. The past had blinded him to what was really a very simple truth, which was that had he still had any feelings for her he would never have forgiven her and had her back. That would have been weak and sad and he was neither weak nor sad. No, his only weakness was sex and that was entirely acceptable. He felt deliriously happy in a way he had not felt for a very long time, not even when he had been engaged to Georgina and heading down a path that had seemed entirely sensible and fitting.

Francesca groaned. ‘Your meetings! Wouldn’t your secretary have called? To remind you?’

‘She probably did, on my cellphone, which is conveniently located out of hearing. She wouldn’t have got through on this number. It’s ex-directory and barred to everyone but a handful of close friends and relatives. This is the one place where I don’t allow work to intrude if I don’t want it to.’

‘I never realised there was such a place,’ Francesca said dryly. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go. I have things to buy and if I don’t hurry I won’t get to the shops in time.’

‘What things?’ He ran his hand along her thigh and felt her suppressed sigh. ‘A few olives and some tomatoes? It can wait until tomorrow.’

‘I have to get back and start doing what I should have been doing today. Lord, Jack must be wondering what’s happened to me!’

‘Let him wonder. Today we celebrate.’

‘What exactly are we celebrating?’

‘What do you think?’ He raised his eyebrows and treated her to an expression very much like the one worn by the cat that had got the cream. ‘We make great lovers and here we are, doing what we should have been doing all along.’

Francesca tried not to think too far ahead. Pondering on the destination of a road leading nowhere wasn’t exactly going to put her in the perfect frame of mind and, having told herself that she would enjoy the present and not live beyond it, even in her darkest thoughts, she wanted to maintain her perfect frame of mind. And, yes, it did feel perfect. Right here, wrapped up with this man, the sunlight fighting a losing battle against the thickly bunched gauze curtains, the day lost in a haze of blissful love-making.