The Italian's One-Night Baby

‘I’ve met a few distressed teenagers who made the same assumption,’ Ellie admitted, smiling to herself, quietly pleased with the knowledge that she was carrying her first child. And no, their baby hadn’t been planned and was likely to drive a horse and cart through her career choices, but neither of those facts mattered when set beside the wonder of conception, which she had watched give such great joy to Polly and Rashad. She would gladly make space in her life for her child, she acknowledged, recognising that in the blink of an eye after hearing that news that her goals had changed.

‘Saying we would make the best of this development if it happened wasn’t the most supportive or sensitive approach,’ Rio conceded belatedly. ‘I want to celebrate now but not only can you not drink, you’ve even been warned off coffee.’

There it was again, that ability to surprise her that made her love Rio all the more, Ellie reflected. In fact, loving Rio seemed to have been stamped into her genes like a no-escape clause because, of course, she loved him, didn’t know quite when it had happened and certainly not how. She smiled, happiness bubbling through her that he was so flexible, so willing to happily embrace their unplanned baby. ‘I’ll drink decaf—’

Rio grimaced at the idea for he had a true Italian love of unadulterated coffee.

‘There are other ways of celebrating,’ Ellie pointed out, lashes screening her eyes as she covertly studied him, recognising that she would never tire of this particular view. Rio, hair blue-black and gleaming in the sunshine, stunning dark golden eyes welded to her with an intensity she could feel, sprawled back with indolent grace in his seat, his shirt pulled taut across his broad chest, his trousers straining over his powerful thighs. Her mouth ran dry.

‘Eat your ice cream, Signora Benedetti. I love your curves—’

‘Just as well. My curves will be expanding—’

A slashing grin curved his sculpted mouth. ‘I can only look forward to it, principessa. But when it comes to celebrating—’

‘You could take me out on a gondola,’ Ellie suggested with enthusiasm.

Rio looked pained. ‘Seriously uncool. That’s a touristy thing—’

‘Please…’ Ellie urged.

And she got her gondola ride the whole length of the Grand Canal. Rio had caved and she was touched. He was much more comfortable sweeping her into a fancy jeweller’s store afterwards, where he insisted on buying her an emerald pendant to mark the occasion. They lunched back at the house and he watched her smother a yawn.

‘You should lie down for a while—’

‘Only if you lie down with me,’ Ellie murmured softly.

Disconcerted, Rio flashed her a glance as if he couldn’t quite credit the invitation. But without hesitation he lifted her up out of her seat and crushed her ripe mouth under his own, all the seething passion of his intense sexuality rising to the fore.

He tumbled her down on the bed but he unwrapped her from her clothes like a precious parcel, pausing to admire and tease what he exposed, and she writhed like a wanton on top of the silk bedspread in the full glare of the Venetian sunlight, utterly lost in passion and equally lost to all shame. He took her from behind then, hands firm on her overheated body as he drove into her with a roughened growl of satisfaction. His urgent rhythm was wildly exciting. Heart pounding, breathing forgotten, Ellie reached a peak and her body detonated in an explosive charge of pleasure. She slumped down winded on the bed with Rio on top of her.

He released her from his weight and settled down beside her, reaching for her to pull her into his arms.

‘Thought you didn’t do hugs,’ Ellie commented.

Rio splayed a large hand across her flat stomach and said piously, ‘I’m hugging my child.’

Ellie laughed, feeling amazingly relaxed and at peace. Her fingers lifted and fiddled absently with the emerald she still wore round her neck.

‘You can tell me about your uncle now,’ Rio informed her in the tone of someone doing her a favour.

Ellie wrinkled her nose. ‘Jim Dixon? My mother’s brother? I guessed he would be the family member you mentioned. I take it he’s still peddling his sob story about how I ripped him off?’

‘You’re not surprised?’

‘Jim’s vilified me everywhere and no matter what I said to him, he refused to listen. He doesn’t want the truth. He didn’t get on with my mother and he never liked Polly and me, but my grandmother was living on the poverty line when she agreed to raise us. Our mother gave her a lot of money to take care of us and the arrangement suited them both from that point of view. Unfortunately my uncle always resented us being there.’

‘Tell me about the brooch,’ Rio urged with typical impatience.

‘Oh, the famous diamond brooch, the family heirloom for several generations and the only item of worth the Dixons ever owned,’ Ellie recounted ruefully. ‘My grandmother sent me a letter during my first term at medical school. In it she told me she wanted me to have the brooch because she was so proud that I was going to be a doctor. She gave it to me the first weekend I was home after that. I didn’t tell Polly, well, I couldn’t bear to—’

Rio had sat up, glorious dark eyes locked to her expressive face and narrowing. ‘Why not? I thought you and your sister were really close.’

‘Oh, come on, Rio, think about it! Polly was the eldest and the brooch should have gone to her if it had gone to anyone!’ Ellie argued. ‘Polly sacrificed her chance to go to art college to get a job and help out financially and when Gran developed dementia, it was Polly who looked after her. She deserved the brooch, not me, and I was astonished enough to get it because our grandmother wasn’t a warm woman. She didn’t neglect or abuse us but she didn’t love us either. Polly would’ve been hurt by me getting the brooch, so I decided to sell it and split the proceeds with her and make up some story about where I got the money from.’

‘Women… Why do you always complicate things?’ Rio groaned. ‘A man would just have told the truth. It wasn’t your fault that your grandmother chose to give it to you.’

Ellie rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ‘But when I tried to sell the brooch, I discovered it was only paste, not real diamonds, which made better sense to me. I mean, why would a poor family have held on to a valuable diamond brooch all those years? It was worth so little that I didn’t bother selling it but I still haven’t told Polly about it,’ she completed guiltily.