The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

‘You’re going to ask me what I’m doing here. I know.’ Riccardo glanced behind her to the white, white walls, the glimpse of abstract paintings, the bare pine floorboards, then he returned his attention to her shocked face. All her colour had drained away and her eyes looked enormous. He could see her think about closing the door on him, but she must have realised that the gesture would have been a futile one because he knew where she lived and he would come back. Also, he had managed to inveigle a position in the doorway which would have made any door slamming pretty difficult.

‘Go away,’ Charlotte said shakily. ‘You can’t just…just show up on my doorstep like this! If you want to discuss the house, you have to talk to Aubrey. How did you get my address anyway? How do you know where I live? Did Aubrey tell you?’

‘No. Are you going to invite me in?’

Charlotte considered her options quickly. She either forced him to go, somehow managed to slam the door in his face, which would certainly involve a struggle, and he would return. She knew he would. Or she stayed on her doorstep holding forth and thereby risking Gina appearing unexpectedly. Or she politely invited him in, listened to what he had to say, and then dispatched him without fuss. No contest—option three. She pulled open the door and stepped back so that he could brush past her.

‘How did you find out where I lived?’

‘I have my ways. Nice place.’ He started heading towards the kitchen and she quickly forestalled him. The fridge was a riot of childish drawings and bits of paper announcing various school happenings. A danger zone, in other words.

‘If you want to go into the sitting room, Riccardo, but I can’t be long. I’m…I’m on my way out.’

‘Clutching a can of furniture polish?’

Charlotte had forgotten about that. ‘After I do a bit of dusting, naturally. And change. I do all my housework on a Saturday.’

‘I’m surprised your fiancé doesn’t help out there. Seems the kind of guy to enjoy a spot of dusting. Where is he anyway?’

‘What do you want, Riccardo? Why have you come here?’

‘Because you’ve been on my mind.’ Their eyes met, and Charlotte felt a sickening lurch somewhere in her stomach. God, his voice could still do things to her! And looking at him now…He was casually dressed. On most other men, the dark grey trousers and grey jumper would frankly have looked insipid. Riccardo looked devastating. He had a body that was fashioned for those immaculately tailored Italian clothes he wore. Tall, broad shouldered, lean hipped. Charlotte swallowed and told herself to focus.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Oh yes,’ he mimicked her gravely as he sat on one of the sofas and crossed his legs.

Around him the little room, which she had taken so much time and effort to decorate with honey, cream and oatmeal colours, looked average and uninspired. She didn’t sit down, preferring to remain hovering by the doorway significantly, even though she felt a mess in her dungarees and thick, padded socks. She had to do something with the hair, though. She needed the comfort of feeling it around her face, providing cover, so she yanked off the Alice band and continued to look at him blandly.

‘That was a pretty annoying stunt you pulled the other night,’ Riccardo said. ‘Letting Lucinda believe that there was more to our liaison than there was.’

‘I don’t happen to think it’s fair the way you treat women. I could tell that she wants more from you than a hop in the sack, and if you can’t provide that “more” then you should be upfront.’