The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

They couldn’t go back to her place. Her two friends would be there. They were ‘entertaining’ tonight. Riccardo had assumed that that meant having boyfriends around, but no, just an English couple they knew who were stopping by for the night. And his place was out. Which, unfortunately, just left the car. But when it came to sexual experiences, he was game for pretty much anything.

And so, he discovered, was Charlie.

Not the most comfortable place on the planet, Charlie admitted wryly to herself, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she just wanted to touch him yet again, have him touch her once more, before he left to see his mother. She didn’t even lodge a faint protest when he pulled down one of the twisting side roads and killed the engine. By now it was very late and here, away from the lights of the town, very, very dark. She was also slightly tipsy, she realised, after the better part of a bottle of some very expensive wine.

‘You have some making up to do,’ Riccardo murmured, wishing to hell he was driving something decent instead of this clapped-out heap of rust which he had bought because it suited the image he had wanted her to have.

‘Meaning…?’

‘Meaning that I satisfied you at the pool…’

‘Oh, yes, so you did.’ She remembered his dark head buried between her thighs and the rhythm of his tongue snaking along her most intimate places until she had bucked and moaned and reached orgasm.

They made love with the inventiveness of two people who knew each other’s bodies intimately and were comfortable with the knowledge. And this time neither was left unsatisfied. In fact, Charlie thought with a sigh of contentment as they reluctantly drew apart, she seriously doubted satisfaction could get any higher.

She could have fallen asleep. In fact, she was beginning to drowse when he flipped open the car door and shifted his weight from under her.

‘Nature calls,’ he told her, placing a kiss on her nose. ‘And then I’m going to drop you off, my little witch.’

He left the car door slightly ajar, and that was when she saw it—there, nestled in a little wad of papers which must have slipped out of his pocket in their love making. The envelope was folded in two and there, in bold type, was his mother’s name and address.

Charlie picked up the envelope, suddenly very wide awake, and committed the name and address to memory. If she had had a pen and piece of paper handy she would have scribbled it down, but then that would have taken time and he wasn’t going to be away for ever. She glanced nervously out of the car, made a mess of the papers and then slumped back onto the car seat where he found her a couple of minutes later.

‘What’s all this?’ he asked.

‘All what?’ She yawned and sat up. ‘Oh, not mine. I try and confine my bits of paper to my handbag. Must be yours. Gosh, I hope you haven’t lost any more…’ She began searching on the ground while he stuffed the papers back into his trouser pocket.

‘Forget it. Come on. Time to go, little one.’

Charlie smiled. She believed in fate, and fate had been working overtime when it had shown her that envelope with that all-important address on it.

Because how else would she have known where he was going? And how else would she have been able to think of the one way she knew to show him that, whatever his background, he had nothing of which to be ashamed?

What better way to get to know him than by paying him a surprise visit…?