The Secret Kept from the Italian

‘What do you mean?’

‘You seem troubled.’

‘Not troubled.’

‘Then...?’

She hesitated, her lips pressed together, her wide green gaze trained on him. ‘While you were talking to that businessman...’

Something remarkably like fear clutched at Antonio’s chest. ‘Yes?’

‘People were talking. About you.’

He felt cold, although he kept his voice steady and light as he answered. ‘And?’

‘They were saying things. Things you’ve never explained...’

What on earth was he meant to explain? What had they said? Antonio didn’t think he wanted to know. ‘What kind of things?’

‘Good things,’ Maisie burst out, shocking him. ‘Antonio, they were telling me how this business of yours—acting as a consultant when businesses are being taken over—is actually charitable. That you come in and try to minimise the impact of the takeover on all the employees, even the cleaners. That people have said they owe their lives to you.’ Antonio stared at her dumbly, shocked that it was actually good things she’d heard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked in a quieter voice. ‘Here I was, getting false information from ridiculous tabloids and thinking you were a heartless monster who only cared about making a profit.’

‘Profits are important—’

‘One man,’ Maisie cut across him, fierce now, ‘explained that you don’t actually make any money from this service. When companies hire you to smooth over the transition period, you add your consulting fee to the severance packages of the employees whose jobs are being cut. You don’t get anything. You take time off from your own work to help other businesses, other people.’ It was all true, so he simply nodded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Maisie cried softly. ‘Correct me? I had it so, so wrong, and I let it colour my perception of you.’

‘And has your perception changed?’

‘Of course it has.’

>

‘How?’

‘Because...because I know you’re a good man. Not just with your own child, which I saw before, but in every way. Before now I had to reconcile the man I knew, the man who held me so tenderly, who cuddled Ella and cared about every little thing, with the ruthless businessman the media portray you to be. And now I don’t have to do that any more.’ Her eyes sparkled with tears as she smiled. ‘I know who you are.’

Antonio felt as if she’d sucker-punched him with that clear, pure statement. She’d grabbed his heart and wasn’t letting go, because she was right. She did know him, and she was still here. Still smiling at him. He’d told her his worst secrets and she’d discovered his best, and she was here.

‘Let’s leave this party,’ he said, his voice a growl of intent.

‘Leave...?’

‘I want to be alone with you.’

Colour suffused Maisie’s face and a small smile curved those lips he already felt the burning need to taste. ‘All right,’ she whispered. Antonio didn’t wait for more. Taking her by the hand, he led her off the dance floor, out of the hotel and into the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘GOOD MORNING.’

Maisie blinked sleepily in the early sunlight, her body aching rather deliciously from the long bout of lovemaking she and Antonio had shared last night. There had been no words between them as they’d driven home, because there hadn’t needed to be. Everything had felt expectant, exciting, and yet also supremely peaceful. For once Maisie had had no doubts, no worries, no fears.

Back at the villa Antonio had dismissed the babysitter and the very second the door had closed behind her Maisie was in his arms. Whether she or Antonio had moved first, she couldn’t have said. It didn’t matter. Their bodies and lips and even their souls had met in perfect, harmonious accord...and remained so for most of the night.

But, now that bright sunlight was streaming through the windows, Maisie was conscious of her incredible bed-head, especially given how unforgivably sexy Antonio looked wearing only a pair of drawstring pyjama bottoms, hair mussed, his eyes sparkling as he held two mugs of coffee... She felt happy, but she also fought a needle-like pinprick of doubt. What was going to happen now? Because she knew, with a leaden certainty, that Antonio was still calling the shots. Perhaps he always would be.

‘Where’s Ella?’ she asked, her tone turning anxious as she realised how late in the morning it had to be. Ella was usually awake by six.

‘Napping.’