A Dangerous Infatuation (20 page)

‘Yes.’ Emma had never imagined she could feel this happy. The past week that she and Rocco had been lovers had been filled with laughter and incredible passion, but she had missed her little daughter and ached to lift Holly into her arms and hug her close. ‘Peter and Alison are flying home to England today, so I’ve arranged to meet them in Genoa. It’s approximately a hundred-mile drive from Nice, so they should arrive about lunchtime.’

Unable to resist, she ran her hand lightly over his cheek, feeling the faint abrasion of stubble on his jaw. He was heart-stoppingly sexy first thing in the morning, she thought, feeling her stomach dip. ‘You’re welcome to join us for lunch.’

Rocco hesitated, thinking of the text message he had received from his half-brother a few moments before Emma had woken up:
See you after school today?

It was the first time Marco had ever contacted him, and sensing the uncertainty behind the message Rocco had immediately texted back:
Of course.
The little boy was finally starting to trust him, and he could not let him down, he acknowledged heavily.

‘I’d love to,
cara
, but I have an important appointment this afternoon. Tell Holly I’ll see her when I get home from work tonight.’ He glanced at his watch and threw back the sheet. ‘Talking of work, my little temptress, I need to get moving. Fridays are always busy.’

He headed into the en-suite bathroom, and moments
later Emma heard the sound of the power shower. She tried to quash her disappointment that he could not meet them for lunch, reminding herself that he was the CEO of one of the biggest companies in Italy and could not rearrange his busy schedule for her.

Unbidden, Shayna Manzzini’s comments slid insidiously into her head.
Rumour has it that the boy and his mother live here in Genoa, and that Rocco visits them every week.

Rubbish, she thought firmly. Shayna was a nasty piece of work, and the rumour was nothing more than sheer bitchiness resulting from jealousy because the Canadian woman had realised that Emma and Rocco were lovers. Rocco had always been honest with her, and she felt confident that she could trust him. Yes, he had a reputation as a playboy, but he had stated that he wanted a meaningful relationship with her. He was not Jack, and it was not in his nature to deceive her.

Rocco stood beneath the powerful jet of water and tried to marshal his chaotic thoughts. Secrets were hell—and this wasn’t even
his
secret, he brooded grimly. He wished he could tell Silvio about Marco. The old man was much stronger than a few months ago, when he had undergone major heart surgery. Back then the doctors had advised that he should not be subjected to any shocks, and telling him that he had an illegitimate grandson had been out of the question.

But the ultimate decision about whether he wanted to be part of the D’Angelo family had to be Marco’s. Rocco had given his half-brother his word that he would tell no one of his true identity until Marco wanted it to be known. The little boy was coming round to the idea of meeting his grandfather, but until he made that choice Rocco felt he could not reveal the truth to anyone.

Damn Enrico for dumping this on him, Rocco thought bitterly. It was typical that he had been left to sort out the mess his father had left behind. He desperately wanted to confide in Emma, but he had worked hard to gain Marco’s trust and he owed his little brother his loyalty. He could not break the promise he had made to a seven year-old child.

Reaching for a towel, Rocco rubbed his hair vigorously. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell Emma, he acknowledged, feeling his stomach clench with a nervous tension that was completely alien to him. He did not do nerves, or emotions, but both were churning in his gut—along with a feeling of vulnerability that he had never experienced before. All were the fault of an attractive English nurse with cool grey eyes and a smile that made his heart miss a beat.

So what was he going to do about it? he queried self-derisively. The situation demanded decisive action, but the possibility that for the first time in his life he might fail to achieve what he desired caused the cramping feeling in his stomach to intensify.

‘Are we lost, Mummy?’

Emma glanced over her shoulder at Holly, who was sitting in her child seat in the back of the car, and gave what she hoped was a confident smile.

‘Only a little bit, munchkin. I’ve stopped for a few minutes so that I can look at the map.’

The journey from Portofino to Genoa this morning had been relatively simple, and once she had left the main coast road and entered the city she had found the restaurant where she had arranged to meet her in-laws without any trouble. Trying to negotiate her way out of town, however, was proving more difficult. The roads were busy with Friday afternoon traffic, and although she felt reasonably
confident driving on the right side of the road rather than the left, as was the law in England, she had been concentrating so hard on the flow of cars at a roundabout that she had missed the correct exit and ended up in a maze of narrow backstreets.

Map-reading had never been one of her strengths, Emma acknowledged with a sigh. She was tempted to ask for directions, but there were few people around, and her inability to speak Italian was likely to be a major stumbling block.

‘Mummy, I’m hot.’

With the car’s engine off, the lack of air-conditioning meant that the temperature inside the car was rising rapidly. Emma rubbed her brow, feeling the beginning of a headache. ‘Okay,’ she reassured Holly, ‘we’ll be moving in a minute.’

At the far end of the street a couple accompanied by a child riding a bike came into view. The gods might be kind and they would be able to speak English, she hoped, releasing her seat belt as the people drew nearer.

They were a striking couple, both tall—the man dark-haired and swarthy, the woman slender and elegant, with a mane of long platinum-blonde hair that suggested she was not a native Italian. Something about the man—his natural grace and air of supreme self-confidence—seemed curiously familiar. Frowning, Emma focused on the child—a boy of perhaps seven or eight years old—and her heart suddenly froze. The jet-black hair was not unusual for an Italian, but the perfect symmetry of his features, his eye-catching handsomeness even at a young age, bore an incredible resemblance to Rocco.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself impatiently, angry for allowing the shadow of Shayna Manzzini’s spite to hang over her. She was no longer the woman she had been
after Jack’s death, lacking in self-worth and terrified to trust her own judgement. She did not believe for one second that Rocco had a secret love child. But she could not tear her gaze from the boy on the bike. He was close to where she was parked now, and she saw that his eyes were an unusual amber colour—like tiger’s eyes.

Bile rose in her throat, so acrid that she almost gagged. She felt as though she had been turned to stone and she watched, unable to move, as the boy leapt from his bike, stood it carefully against the wall and then hurtled back to the man who was drawing ever nearer. The man swung the boy high in the air, and they both laughed while the beautiful blonde woman looked on and smiled. The bond between the three of them was unmistakable—and now that he was close to the car so was the identity of the boy’s father.

‘Are we going now?’

‘Yes, right now.’ Spurred into action, Emma dragged her seat belt across her. She was terrified that Holly would spot Rocco, or that he would glance into the car. Why didn’t she step out onto the pavement and confront him, as she should have done with Jack all those times when he’d arrived home late? a voice in her head demanded. The stark answer felt like a knife in her heart. It was because now, as during her marriage, she could not face the truth and see her pathetic dreams crumble to dust, she thought despairingly.

She had trusted Rocco. Dear heaven. She gave a bitter laugh. Had her blind faith in Jack taught her nothing? She had fallen in love with a playboy once and been cruelly betrayed. What kind of a fool was she to have made the exact same mistake a second time?

She started the engine and the sound drew the attention of the group on the pavement. Like a petrified rabbit
caught in car headlights she stared at Rocco and saw him stiffen, watched the startled expression on his face turn to a frown. He took a step towards her and her instinct to flee kicked in. There was a horrible grinding noise as she clumsily selected a gear and the car shot down the road. She determinedly avoided looking into her rearview mirror for one last glimpse of Rocco, focused only on getting away from him.

Rocco gunned his sports car up the hill towards the Villa Lucia. The powerful V8 engine had eaten up the miles to Portofino, but it had been several hours since he had watched Emma race away down the road in Genoa and he was impatient to talk to her. Why had she shot off like that this afternoon? he brooded. He realised she must have been as surprised to see him as he had been to see her, and he did not understand why she had been in that part of the city. Recalling her tense face, he could not shake off a sense of grim foreboding.

It had turned out to be one hell of a day, he thought wearily. The new bike he had presented to Marco had finally won the little boy over. He had been shocked by the strong emotions that had surged through him when his half-brother had hugged him for the first time. It had brought back painful memories of Gio, and reinforced his determination to act as a father figure to Marco.

Emma’s unexpected appearance and the disturbing, almost devastated expression he had glimpsed on her face had made him want to rush back to Portofino immediately. But Marco had fallen off the bike, and their subsequent trip to the hospital where he had been diagnosed with mild concussion meant that Rocco had been delayed in the city. Inga, Marco’s mother, had been badly shaken by the accident, and even when Rocco had been assured
that his brother would be fine he had felt duty-bound to stick around until Marco had been discharged.

At least Silvio had taken the news of his grandson better than expected. Marco had decided that he wanted to meet his grandfather, and Rocco had gone straight from the hospital to Silvio’s house, to explain about the little boy. The old man had been shocked, and clearly dismayed that Enrico had kept his illegitimate son a secret for seven years. But Silvio was eager to meet Marco, and had agreed with Rocco that he should inherit a share of Eleganza.

Now, finally, he was free to tell Emma everything that was in his heart. Tension coiled in Rocco’s gut and he gave a ragged laugh beneath his breath. Nerves were hell, and a new experience for him where a woman was concerned. But he had long ago realised that Emma was unique. He could only pray she shared his hopes for the future.

The discovery of a taxi parked outside the villa was puzzling. He drew up next to it just as Emma ran down the front steps with a suitcase in her hand. She stopped dead at the sight of him, and even from a distance of a few feet away Rocco could sense her tension.

She jerked back to life and threw the case into the boot of the taxi.

‘What are you doing?’ Emerging from his car, Rocco glanced into the taxi and saw Holly strapped into a child seat. The ominous feeling that his life was about to come crashing down intensified.

‘Leaving,’ Emma told him shortly.

Instinct warned him that her emotions were balanced on a knife-edge, and he resisted the temptation to grab her shoulders and demand to know what the hell was going on. ‘I guessed that. But why? Your contract to work as Cordelia’s private nurse is for three months.’

‘Your grandmother no longer needs a nurse.’ By a huge
effort of will Emma managed to keep her voice normal, hiding the fact that inside she was falling apart. Fate had a cruel sense of humour, she thought bitterly. If Rocco had arrived home five minutes later she would have already left, and been spared a confrontation with him.

Something was very wrong, Rocco realised.
‘Cara …’
He took a step towards her, a hand outstretched.

‘Don’t,’
she said violently, backing away from him. Her self-control cracked. ‘Don’t come near me.’

‘
Madre de Dio!
What is going on, Emma?’ Realising that she was about to climb into the taxi, Rocco caught hold of her arm and felt the tremor that ran through her.

‘How can you ask me what’s wrong?’ she demanded, keeping her voice low for fear of upsetting Holly. ‘I saw you today—
with your son
.’

Shock slowly turned to something cold and hard, like a lead weight in the pit of Rocco’s stomach. When Emma snatched her arm out of his grasp he did not attempt to stop her. ‘My
son
?’

‘That boy you were with. Don’t try to deny it,’ Emma said wildly. ‘Shayna told me about the rumour that you have a son by one of your mistresses and you visit them regularly.’

Nausea swept through her when she pictured the stunning blonde woman who had been with Rocco and the little boy. She had spent the past few hours thinking about it, and it all made perfect sense. Rocco knew his grandfather would not sign over full control of Eleganza to him unless he married an Italian woman, and so he had kept the fact that he had a son by his Nordic-looking mistress a secret. What other explanation could there be?

The dangerous gleam in Rocco’s eyes sent a shiver through her. ‘Naturally you would believe Shayna—

despite previous proof that she’s a spiteful bitch,’ he said sarcastically.

Stung by his icy disdain, she said fiercely, ‘I didn’t believe her at your grandfather’s party. I trusted you. But you lied to me.’ She held up her hand when he made to speak. ‘You let me think that your afternoon’s appointment was work-related, and that was why you couldn’t meet me in Genoa. But I’ve seen the evidence that you were lying. The little boy you were with is the image of you.’

‘So was Gio,’ Rocco said harshly.

She frowned. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Think about it.’

She shook her head and reached once more for the taxi door. ‘I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to go.’ Before the tears that felt like acid burning her eyes fell and he witnessed her utter devastation.