The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

Revenge was an ugly notion, and no, he was not out to get revenge. He needed to remove her from his system and the only way he could achieve that, he had realised in one of his brutally honest moments, would be to have her once again. The fact that she was involved with someone else was an irritating technicality. As far as he was concerned, she and Jack were a ridiculous and improbable match and he would be doing her a favour by divesting her of that particular relationship.

The thought that Jack might once have been a rival on the side would make it all the sweeter.

He would have her and then, when it suited him and suit him it would, he would dismiss her but at least she would cease to haunt him. He would not consider her feelings because, as she would be the first to agree, surely, wasn’t all fair in love and war?

The wheel, at last, would turn full circle and it would be a thoroughly enjoyable process. Better still, he would be the one steering it.

‘What sort of meal do you have in mind?’ Francesca asked, breaking into his pleasurable train of thought, and he shot her a brief glance.

‘Something interesting involving fish and chicken,’ he said. ‘You’re the expert. What would you advise?’

Francesca looked at him suspiciously. He seemed in remarkably high spirits considering she was the one in the passenger seat.

‘I could do prawns in garlic for starters. It’s pretty simple and quick to do. And then, I suppose, chicken with green olives and we could have that with fresh pasta. I do know how to make my own pasta but I won’t have the time to do that.’

Maybe another day, he was inclined to say.

‘Do you limit yourself to Italian cooking in your catering?’ he asked, slowing down as they approached the supermarket on their left.

‘Why are you being so nice to me, Angelo?’

‘So suspicious, Francesca. I wouldn’t want to rub you up the wrong way and discover that the secret ingredient in my food was a touch of arsenic, would I?’

Francesca felt her mouth twitch in amusement but there was no way that she was going to indulge his sense of humour. She was suspicious and she had every right to be in view of his attitude towards her since they had met again. She had a sudden, vivid memory of the laughter they used to share. His wit had always extended beyond amusing surface charm. He could be funny enough to have her holding her sides. She shut the door firmly on that memory.

‘I’m fresh out of arsenic, as it happens, and I don’t believe it’s stocked in supermarkets.’

Angelo grinned and manoeuvred his car into one of the free parking spaces. ‘So I’m safe for now. Good. Life is…sweet at the moment. I wouldn’t—’ he killed the engine and turned to her ‘—want to give it up just yet.’

Francesca suddenly realised just how small the confines of his car were and she felt a lick of nervousness.

‘You haven’t answered my question. Why are you being so nice?’

‘Let’s just say…’ his black eyes locked on hers ‘…that I have discovered all sorts of challenges where there were none before. A very exciting prospect to a jaded soul like mine.’ He smiled slowly and Francesca, suddenly drowning in nectar, opened her car door and shot out.

Challenges? What challenges? Something to do with work, she supposed. He had once told her that the compulsion to work was driven not for love of money, or status, or power, but for the excitement of closing a difficult deal.

If not work, then maybe he was beginning to truly appreciate the anticipation of his impending marriage and the challenges that would inevitably offer.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to waste time unravelling his enigmatic statement. What she wanted was to cook him his meal, prove herself capable of the job they had given her and get him out of her house.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS PLANS went it was fine but its execution got off to a grindingly slow start. Francesca, having had the trolley manoeuvred out of her grasp, was inclined to circumnavigate the Saturday evening crowds and do the equivalent of a trolley dash. She very rarely browsed in supermarkets. She came with a long list, usually shopped during antisocial hours and always bought what had to be bought in record time.