Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

Carefully, she stirred her tea and laid the spoon in the saucer. He was trying to unsettle her, nothing

more. She steeled herself not to flinch from his touch or, worse, tremble beneath it.

His hand dropped and she forced herself to meet his eye. ‘You said my dress was fine.’

His gaze raked her. ‘Oh, it’s fine. Very fine, indeed. And I am sure not a man here tonight would disagree.’

Did she detect a note of censure in his voice? She stopped herself glancing down. She’d been conscious of her plunging neckline all evening, but there were dozens of cleavages here more exposed than her own. And, though the dress was more suited to a cocktail party or a private dinner than a glittering gala affair—cause at first for discomfort—there was nothing cheap or trashy about it.

She crossed her legs, allowing her hem to ride up, until another inch of pale thigh defiantly showed. ‘And you?’ She watched his gaze flicker down. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a man like you would need a last-minute dinner date. Where’s your regular plus-one tonight?’

His lips, far too sensual for a man’s, twitched into a smile. ‘A man like me?’

‘Successful,’ she said, inwardly cursing her choice of words. ‘Money attracts, does it not? The world is full of women who find wealth and status powerful aphrodisiacs.’

One eyebrow quirked. ‘When did you become a cynic?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Maybe around the time you were getting rich.’

He lounged back in his chair, the glint in his eye unmissable. ‘In answer to your question, I’m between mistresses.’

‘Oh...’ She fiddled with the handle on her teacup.

Not girlfriends or partners. Mistresses. Why did that word make her heart shrink? So he enjoyed casual relationships. So what? His sex life was no business of hers.

She sat back, forced herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to waste time. The evening was slipping away. If she didn’t speak soon her chance would be lost. ‘Leo, my father and I are estranged.’

In a flash, the teasing light was gone from his eyes. Her stomach pitched. Should she have blurted the words so abruptly? Too bad. They were out there now.

A vein pulsed in his right temple. ‘Define “estranged”.’

She hitched a shoulder, let it drop. ‘We don’t talk. We don’t see each other. We’re estranged in every sense of the word, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Why?’

She hesitated. How much to tell? The bitter memory of that final violent confrontation with her father was too disturbing to recount even now.

‘We fell out,’ she said, her tongue dry despite the gallon of tea she’d consumed. ‘Over you and what he did after we—after I broke things off. I walked out seven years ago and we haven’t spoken since.’ She paused and glanced down. Her hands were shaking. She lifted her gaze back to his. ‘I dropped out of university and went to live in a rented flat. Father cut off my allowance, froze my trust, so I work at a full-time job. As a...a secretary. In a bank.’

Leo stared at her, his face so blank she wondered if he’d heard a single word she said. Her insides churned as if the tea had suddenly curdled in her belly. She wished she could read him better. Wished she could interpret the emotion in those dark, fathomless eyes.

And still the silence stretched.

God, why didn’t he say something?

‘You gave up your design studies?’

She blinked. That was his first question? ‘Yes,’ she said, frowning. ‘I couldn’t study full-time and support myself. The materials I needed were too expensive.’

Other students on her textile design course had juggled part-time jobs along with their studies, but they’d had only themselves to think about. They hadn’t been facing the same dilemmas, the same fears. They hadn’t been in Helena’s position. Alone and pregnant.

Careful.

She shrugged. ‘I might go back one day. But that’s not important. Leo, what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m not here for my father.’

‘Then why are you here?’

She leaned forward. ‘Because what you’re doing will hurt the people I do love. And before you remind me that my father—and thus his family—stands to gain financially from having his company torn apart, it’s not about the money.’