The Sicilian's Stolen Son

Her facial muscles clenched tight. ‘Thanks but no, thanks... I’m not in a very sociable mood.’

As she descended the stairs she saw a huge portrait of an exquisite brunette on the landing and, already regretting her tart reply to his invitation, she said in an effort to break the pounding silence, ‘My goodness, who’s that?’

‘My mother, Ambra. It was painted shortly before she married my father. She probably never smiled like that again,’ Luciano breathed harshly.

His intonation made Jemima wince. ‘When did she die?’

‘When I was three years old,’ Luciano admitted between gritted teeth, fighting off his terrible memories with all his might.

‘Did your father remarry?’

‘No.’

Jemima was already scolding herself for surrendering to her low mood and turning down the dinner invite. She had allowed Luciano to believe that she was the surrogate mother of his son and had used that pretence as a means of staying in Nicky’s life. Was it any wonder that he despised her? Or that he had assumed that she was like her sister and after his money? Julie had worshipped rich men and money. Yet no matter how much money Julie had had it had never been enough and money had trickled through her fingers like water.

‘We’ll talk over breakfast in the morning,’ Luciano breathed in a driven undertone as he came to a halt outside his bedroom door, which was mere feet from hers.

‘I shouldn’t have lied to you,’ Jemima began, and then an unfamiliar stab of angry bitterness powered through her regret and she added, ‘But you had no right to insult me by suggesting that I would use sex as a means of making money!’

Luciano ground his teeth together and watched her long, unbound mane of golden hair slide off her shoulders and fall almost to her waist as she moved her head. He wanted to run his fingers through that glossy golden hair so badly that he clenched his hand into a fist to restrain himself. So, he liked the long hair? OK, he really, really liked the long hair, particularly now that he suspected it was one hundred per cent natural. He also liked her body...and her eyes...and... With a huge effort he focused on what she had said and murmured grimly, ‘I’ve met a lot of women who sell sex like a product.’

Jemima was so shocked by that blunt admission that she turned up her head to stare at him, ice-blue eyes visibly dismayed. ‘Seriously?’

Teeth gritted more than ever at such naivety, Luciano nodded and wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Now she was probably thinking that he consorted with hookers and he didn’t want her thinking that. What the hell does it matter what she thinks? he snarled at himself, thoroughly disconcerted by his loss of concentration and self-discipline. What was wrong with him? Had the few drinks he had imbibed in his bad mood completely addled his brain? Telling Agnese to hold dinner, he strode downstairs to call his lawyer.

Charles did a great deal of groaning and apologising during the lengthy exchange that followed. Nothing about the situation was quite as anyone had assumed or as clear. Charles still couldn’t answer all his employer’s questions and reluctantly gave Luciano the phone number of his own chief informant. Breathing in deep, Luciano telephoned Jemima’s adoptive father, Benjamin Barber. And not one thing that Luciano learned in the subsequent conversation made him feel happier. Instead he came off that call marvelling at the older man’s optimistic and forgiving outlook while feeling a great deal worse about his own opinions, suspicions and activities. Knowing that the least he owed Jemima was a polite warning about what he had done, he mounted the stairs again and knocked on her bedroom door.

Half asleep after her delicious meal, Jemima rolled off the bed and lifted her tray, assuming someone was calling back to collect it. Instead she was faced with Luciano, infuriatingly immaculate again in tailored chinos and a black tee shirt. ‘Yes?’ she said discouragingly, clutching the tray and feeling horribly irritated that she had not known it would be him at her door.

He leant down and took the tray, setting it down on the table to the side of the door. ‘I have something to tell you—’

‘Can’t it wait until breakfast time?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Soft pink mouth compressed, Jemima grudgingly stood back to allow him into her room. Since she had no idea what he had to say to her, keeping him out in the corridor where their conversation could be overheard struck her as risky.

‘I spoke to your father an hour ago and we talked for quite some time.’

Transfixed by that staggering announcement, Jemima stared back at him in horror. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I phoned your father and he’s now aware that you were pretending to be your sister for my benefit,’ Luciano divulged.