Brunetti's Secret Son

A muscle flexed in this jaw. ‘I wanted to tell him who I was the first moment I knew he was mine.’

The touch of frost inside her melted. ‘Fine. Tomorrow, then, or the day after. Whenever you’re ready.’

His mouth compressed for several seconds. Then he nodded. ‘Bene.’

Maisie swallowed and nodded in return. She started to reach for her water glass, but he caught her hand in his.

‘I’m sorry for not handling this better.’

The remaining frost was replaced by dizzying warmth. ‘It’s okay. I muddle through motherhood every day.’ She smiled.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the soft skin. ‘You’ve done an admirable job, gattina.’

Heat unfurled in her stomach, wending its way through her body when he continued to caress her with his mouth.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to say something before she crumbled beneath the smouldering onslaught. ‘And you’ve had more experience than I think you’re letting on.’

His eyebrows rose.

‘There was a picture of you in the paper, on a yacht with two little boys,’ she pried gently.

A look crossed his face, a facsimile of the one he wore whenever he interacted with his son. ‘Rafa and Carlo are Zaccheo’s twin sons, and my godsons.’ He shrugged. ‘At least that’s what it says on paper. I don’t really have much interaction with them.’

‘Zaccheo is your ex-business partner?’

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. ‘Sì, but he is more than that.’

‘In what way?’

Hazel eyes darkened a touch. ‘Our pasts were intertwined for a brief time during which we formed an unlikely bond.’ His tone suggested he wouldn’t elaborate, but as she had before, Maisie couldn’t help but pry, her need to know this man inside and out a yearning that wouldn’t go away.

‘Before or after you lived on the streets?’

‘Before. Zaccheo’s parents took me in for a while, but that situation could never be anything but temporary because my presence in their lives was not their choice.’

He turned her hand over, his fingers tracing her palm in slow, lazy circles. It wasn’t a sensual move, even though there was plenty of that arcing between them. It was a grounding touch that sought, and received, a connection.

‘Are you ever going to tell me what happened with your mother?’ she murmured.

He froze immediately. ‘I don’t consider the subject suitable dinner conversation.’

She sighed. ‘Then I guess, since dinner is over, I should retire to bed.’

‘So you can tuck yourself into your cool sheets and congratulate yourself for escaping this needless torture you insist on putting us both through?’ he grated at her, a different, more dangerous brooding taking over his face. She also detected a vulnerability that made her wonder whether there was something more going on here than she was aware of.

She slowly pulled her hand away. ‘It’s not needless.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I suppose it’s something that you don’t deny it’s torturous.’ He caught up his glass and drained the last of his wine. The precision with which he set down the exquisite crystal made her think he would very much like to launch it across the terrace floor and watch it shatter in a million pieces.

He shoved his chair back and stood. ‘Perhaps I’ll take a leaf out of your book and live in denial for a while. I’m sure there’s an urgent business decision I need to make somewhere in my company. Sleep well, gattina,’ he said mockingly, before striding off in the direction of his study.

* * *

She knew the mocking command would have the opposite effect even before she undressed and slid into bed two hours later after giving up the pretence of reading.

Tossing and turning, Maisie tried rationalising and reaffirming her decisions. When by the thousandth time her own reasoning sounded mockingly hollow, she gave up. Frustrated, she yanked back the sheets and sat up. The hot-pink silk negligee she wore felt sticky on her skin, but the warm night air was inviting, a great way to empty her thoughts of the disturbing feeling that her resistance was crumbling.

Tugging the silk over her head, she went into her dressing room and rummaged through the drawer containing her new selection of swimwear. When her fingers closed over an as-yet-unworn set, she pulled out the string bikini she’d looked at and immediately discarded when her wardrobe had arrived. Of all the swimwear that had been delivered, this was the most daring. The cups of the top part of the black-and-orange set barely covered half her breasts and the matching panties were made of nothing more than three pieces of string, leaving very little to the imagination.