The Italian's Secret Baby

‘It’s Sam’s father’s business,’ he replied after a taut silence.

‘Sam’s father is not going to materialise,’ she promised him.

‘But if he did…’ Roman persisted. ‘What would you do if he wanted to be part of Sam’s life?’

It seemed much more likely that he would resent the child that he had been tricked into fathering, and who could blame him? Not Scarlet. Non-consensual fatherhood pretty much fitted what had been done to him.

‘That’s really not at all likely.’ His unblinking, glittering scrutiny was making her increasingly nervous.

‘Hypothetically,’ he inserted smoothly.

‘Hypothetically I’d work something out for Sam’s sake, but this isn’t something that’s going to happen.’

‘You sound very sure.’

‘I am.’#p#????#e#

‘How can you be?’

‘Abby didn’t tell him,’ she revealed abruptly.

‘She knew who he was, then?’

Scarlet let out a furious gasp and bounced to her feet. The shocking sound of her hand connecting with his face resounded around the room.

She looked from her extended hand to the mark on his lean cheek. The thin white scar stood out lividly against the reddened skin. Her chest heaved with emotion as her eyes met his.

‘You pack quite a punch.’

She had started shaking in reaction. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was deeply ashamed of the loss of control that had made her resort to violence. ‘But you deserved it,’ she added with a glare that dared him to disagree with her.

Roman levered himself from the chair in a fluid elegant motion. He looked down at her from his superior vantage point.

‘Maybe I do.’

Scarlet looked up at him warily through the protective dark mesh of her lashes. This was not the reaction she had expected.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You recall when my mother collapsed at the opening ceremony?’

Scarlet nodded. ‘Of course I do.’ She had not the faintest idea where this was going and, call her a coward, but she didn’t actually want to know.

‘It was because she saw someone she recognised.’

She still didn’t have an inkling. Her smooth brow pleated in a perplexed, wary frown. ‘Who did she recognise?’

‘She saw Sam.’

An image of Sam, the posy of wilting flowers clutched in his hot, sticky hands, flashed into her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

He scanned her face for a moment, his own expression broodingly sombre. ‘I know you don’t. Sam looks exactly the way I did when I was his age. That’s what spooked my mother.’

Scarlet was confused but not suspicious, which later on struck her as ironic in the extreme. ‘Because Sam looks like you?’ Perhaps it was the colouring. Sam did have that Mediterranean glow and the long lashes and, now that she thought about it, at certain angles…

‘Because Sam is my son.’

Scarlet was dramatically unprepared for his revelation, which, when at a later date she went over the conversation that had led to it, made her blind, deaf and very stupid!

She was not conscious then or later of his tensing and moving closer in readiness to catch her as the colour seeped rapidly from her skin, leaving it marble-pale.

‘For God’s sake, sit down.’

Quivering with denial, she kept to her feet. ‘You and Abby?’ She shook her head, feeling sick. ‘You slept with Abby?’ she wailed.

Now why did that make her feel as though she were the tragic victim of some betrayal? The victim here was Roman. What he must have felt like discovering he had a son this way she couldn’t even imagine! Her well-developed sense of empathy sprang into life, as did her guilt.

‘Apparently.’

Considering his admission, he was surprised when she didn’t deliver the obvious comeback. To father a child accidentally was one thing, to forget about it took the crime to another level.

‘She said not, but facts say otherwise,’ he related grimly.

‘That’s ridiculous, you can’t be!’ she cried shrilly. ‘She said he…you—’ she corrected herself.

‘She said what about me?’

Scarlet gave her head a tiny shake; she was having second thoughts about her candour. This was one occasion when the truth was not going to help.

‘I don’t recall exactly.’

‘I’ll settle for inexact.’

Scarlet gave an exasperated sigh; he wasn’t going to leave well alone. She studied his profile. The light fell from behind, highlighting all the hard angles and intriguing hollows of his face.

‘She said the father would have run a million miles if he’d known about the baby.’