The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

Angelo, on the other hand, appeared to be in no rush. The first five minutes found him thumbing through the CDs on sale just beyond the rows of magazines by the huge opening doors.

He could feel her steaming behind him and let his fingers travel along the rack of CDs, pulling out another one and reading the index of songs at super slow speed.

‘What,’ he asked, turning to her, ‘do you think of this one? I live over here now, but regrettably I have not managed to get into the music.’ He handed her the CD and watched as she impatiently scanned it.

‘Have you any intention of buying a CD?’ Francesca asked. ‘I thought we came in here to buy food so that I could cook you a meal and prove that I’m capable of meeting your standards.’ She handed him back the CD and folded her arms.

Dressed casually, she was even more of a knockout than in the neatly tailored suits he had seen her in previously. Her jeans were faded to the palest of blues and fitted her like a second skin, flaring slightly at the bottom, revealing slender feet tucked into workmanlike sandals that would have looked ungainly on any other woman. Models, even ex-models, were built to be put into anything and still look good. Francesca was no exception. Where she differed was that she carried just sufficient weight to look feminine, even though her expression now was anything but.

Undeterred, Angelo surveyed her blandly, although he could feel the adrenaline pumping through him at the thought of his seduction and its inevitable success. A part of him marvelled at the fact that less than a week previously he had been engaged to be married to someone else. Of course, he had always known that he had chosen Georgina because of her credentials, had known that his fondness for her had never extended to love, had willingly accepted that her own feelings for him had been wrapped up in the tremendous ego boost of having landed someone as eminently eligible as he was…but, amazingly, he had given her no more than a passing thought since he had broken off their engagement.

Would he tell Francesca of that little development? he wondered.

Or would he bed her knowing that even the thought of him being betrothed to another woman would not be enough for her to resist him? How fitting for her to plead for him when she had once walked away.

‘We need music to listen to while we eat,’ he said, infuriatingly turning round to reach for another CD. At this rate, Francesca worked out that they wouldn’t make it to the fresh meat section before closing time.

‘I have music.’ She relieved him of what he was holding and pointedly returned it to the rack.

‘But do you have music that I would like?’

‘Well, since you haven’t got into English music you’ll just have to trust my taste. Okay? Because we can’t dawdle here for hours sifting through CDs. You want me to cook for you—fine. I mean, it’s not something any other client has ever requested…’

‘But then, I am unique,’ Angelo pronounced with such staggering arrogance that Francesca raised her eyes skywards and sighed elaborately. ‘Okay, okay.’ He raised both hands in mock surrender. ‘I’ll trust your taste in music and we’ll get down to the business of buying food.’

And no chat. It was the message he was reading loud and clear from her body language. He let her have it her way for the first ten minutes, obediently looking on in silence while she frowned over the cuts of meat and inspected the vegetables for freshness.

Supermarket shopping was not something Angelo did on a regular basis, or any kind of basis for that matter. He had a housekeeper who took care of keeping his fridge stocked up and, if he ever needed anything beyond the usual, he simply took himself off to the nearest delicatessen and paid over the odds for the privilege. And, of course, for the past few months Georgina had cooked for him, basic English food that was unadventurous but edible.

For a short while he was content to eye the shelves and watch Francesca at work. Just for a short while, though.

‘Tell me what sort of music you like listening to,’ he said while she was frowning over the fresh pasta, and Francesca jumped because suddenly he was a lot closer to her than she had thought.