The Sicilian's Stolen Son

Yet she still could not resist the temptation to offer. ‘Can I help with whatever’s wrong?’

‘Why the hell would you think there’s something wrong?’ Luciano demanded harshly, hugely disconcerted by the question when in his experience other people couldn’t read him at all well.

‘Because there so obviously is,’ Jemima pointed out, wishing he didn’t have such stunning eyes. So dark and lustrous and sexy and absolute killers when fringed by black curling lashes into the bargain.

Unsettled by that assurance, Luciano gritted his teeth.

‘You’re so cross,’ Jemima pointed out gently.

‘I am not cross,’ Luciano growled.

‘I’ll just mind my own business, then,’ Jemima muttered, caving into the tension sparking like lightning rods through the atmosphere.

‘Perhaps that would be best,’ Luciano riposted very drily.

Her face flamed and she roamed restively over to the tall windows that overlooked flower beds surrounded by low box hedges and an ancient mossy fountain. ‘I came down to speak to you about the new clothes you bought for me.’ In emphasis she lifted a foot to show off the shoe she wore and very nearly fell over. All dignity abandoned, she grabbed at the back of an armchair to stay upright and hastily put that foot back on the floor. ‘Er...these shoes are gorgeous... In fact it’s all gorgeous, but with the possible exception of these shoes I can’t possibly accept an entire wardrobe.’

‘Why not?’ Luciano shot back at her, startling her with that blunt comeback. ‘And turn round and face me when you’re speaking to me.’

With great reluctance and carefully slow movements, Jemima turned and straight away registered why she preferred talking to him without looking at him. Face on he was too much of a distraction. She lowered her lashes, blocking him out to some extent, her soft mouth unusually taut with nerves. ‘Well, I’m very grateful for your generosity but I don’t believe in accepting expensive gifts from people—’

‘I’m not people!’ Luciano cut in with ruthless bite. ‘And I would hazard a guess that you have often accepted such gifts from men—’

‘Yes...er...but that doesn’t mean it was right. Having done it before, I don’t have to keep on doing it,’ Jemima pointed out, gathering steam in her argument. ‘Maybe I think it’s time for me to change my ways?’

‘Maybe there are two blue moons in the sky,’ Luciano incised with ringing derision.

‘Being with Nicky has changed me,’ Jemima argued, setting off on another tack. ‘It’s made me appreciate what’s really important in life.’

‘Within hours of his birth you had already decided what was really important to you...more money,’ Luciano reminded her cruelly.

Jemima lifted her chin. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t develop a different outlook. And I have changed. If you must know, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.’

His dark eyes glittering like polished jet, Luciano vented a laugh of unholy amusement. ‘I assume that’s your idea of a joke...’

‘No, it’s not actually,’ Jemima told him tightly, thinking sadly of the number of times her late twin had spoken of that same ambition to her. ‘Everybody has to start somewhere when they make changes. I mean, why would you give me all those clothes anyway, for goodness’ sake?’

‘You’re not that naïve.’

Her colour heightened. ‘So, obviously it was a gift made with certain expectations, and if I’m not prepared to meet those expectations, I can’t possibly accept it.’

‘Of course you’re prepared to meet my expectations.’ Luciano surveyed her with galling assurance, smouldering dark golden eyes roaming over her with a potent sexuality that made her tremble. Her nipples prickled below her clothing and a tiny burst of heat ignited in her pelvis, starting up a nagging throb of awareness.

‘I’m only here for a few weeks of summer for your son’s benefit,’ Jemima reminded him stubbornly. ‘His benefit, not yours.’

Luciano said a rude word in English that made her flinch.

‘I’m trying to be reasonable and honest here to avoid misunderstandings,’ she told him in growing frustration.

Luciano stalked closer, silent and graceful as a night-time predator, and said an even ruder word in dismissal of that statement. What did such a woman know about honesty? What had she ever known?

He was so close now that Jemima could have reached out and touched him. Her heart was thudding out a staccato beat of apprehension and her breathing had ruptured into winded audible snatches.