The Italian's Secret Baby (13 page)

Sam did wake. He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of the man who was carrying him. He gave a sleepy frown.

‘Did you bring me a football?'

‘Next time,' Roman promised.

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. ‘Good,' he said as he snuggled down into the big man's arms.

Roman shook his head. His eyes were shining; he looked as though someone had just given him the winning Lotto ticket. ‘He remembered me.'

There was an emotional lump in her throat that made her voice thick. ‘You're not an easy man to forget,' she said, turning away before he saw that she was crying.

S
CARLET
caught sight of his reflection in the steamy window: a tall man, his lean, long frame filled the doorway. She might only have been feasting her eyes on a reflection, but it didn't stop her receiving the same shocking jolt of sexual longing she always did when he appeared—sleek and sexy and totally out of place, not just in her kitchen, but her life.

Maybe he won't be a presence for much longer?

The prospect of Roman vanishing from their lives should have made her happy. Wasn't it what she'd been praying for right from the start? She felt many things but happiness wasn't one of them.

Since he'd pushed his way into her life she was permanently stressed and edgy. Though she had to admit Roman's behaviour had been impeccable. He had not even raised an eyebrow when she had produced the promised schedule, though when she'd pinned it to the notice-board in the kitchen he hadn't been able to resist a comment about her colour coding.

Three weeks into the arrangement it was hard to remember when he hadn't been a part of Sam's life.

He wasn't the problem; she was!

It had been three days since his last visit. On that visit he'd had a free afternoon and it had been agreed that he would take Sam for a walk in the park. The weather had been perfect, unlike Sam's mood. The toddler had been tired, which always made him cranky, and the fact she hadn't let him watch a programme on the television that looked unsuitable to her had not improved matters.

Roman had not seen his son in this mood before. He had looked uncharacteristically helpless when the toddler had struggled and thrown himself around when he had tried to put his coat on. Acting like a three-year-old who hadn't got his own way, Sam hadn't even looked at the gift Roman had brought for him.

Roman might be intolerant and short-tempered in his dealings with her, but Scarlet had to admit that with Sam he displayed a limitless supply of patience. When, despite his best efforts, the child had remained stubbornly cranky, Scarlet had finally taken pity on the inexperienced father—in truth she had found the usually totally self-possessed and poised playboy looking helpless dangerously appealing.

‘I'll come, if you'd like. I could do with some fresh air,' she heard herself offer.

Of course she ought to have let him trail Sam around the park on his own; that would have brought home big time to him that taking care of a young child was not all ice cream and fun games.

Even with her along to retrieve the toy that Sam deliberately threw from the pushchair every few yards the park thing wasn't a raving success. Though it was worth going just to see how horrified Roman looked as he pushed a child who was having a tantrum through town.

‘What's wrong with him?' he asked Scarlet in a hushed undertone. ‘Is he ill?'

She shook her head. She was amused by his harassed question but, not being a fool, hid the fact. ‘Not even possessed by a demon,' she told him cheerfully. ‘He's tired, that's all. A nap and he'll be fine. He's fighting sleep—he doesn't want to give in,' she explained knowledgeably.

‘He's also fighting me. People are staring.'

Scarlet looked at his heartbreakingly perfect profile. ‘You ought to be used to that,' she told him drily.

Despite his discomfort, Roman ironically didn't show any sign of self-consciousness about being the cynosure of curious eyes when a few minutes later he leapt to his son's defence.

She recalled the event with a wry smile. The passer-by who loudly offered the opinion that what that child needed was a firm hand and or good slap got more than he had bargained for when confronted by an icily irate father.

Roman said, in a voice that made Scarlet shiver, that anyone who hit a child in anger was a coward and a bully at the very least. And anyone who hit
his
child would find him or herself regretting the action for the rest of their natural life!

The man's face was a picture.

Since the last visit, Roman had been meant to come around the previous day, but he had cancelled at the last minute. As she had explained to Sam that his daddy wouldn't be coming after all she had wondered whether after the trip in the park he was having second thoughts about the joys of fatherhood.

She didn't turn around immediately even though she could feel his dark eyes drilling into her back. Waiting for her pulse rate to slow to a canter, she continued to dry the dishes stacked on the draining-board as though achieving a shiny finish on the crockery were something she had always wanted to dedicate her life to.

‘Had we arranged for you to come over this evening?' she asked, holding a polished glass up to the light to check for smudges.

‘I must have lost my schedule,' he returned with an equal amount of irony.

‘There's no need to be facetious,' she snapped. ‘You can't just barge in here whenever it suits you. I have a life of my own.'

‘The jury is still out on that one.'

Scarlet bit back a retort to this jibe. ‘This is only going to work if you accept I have a right to my privacy…'

‘To dry dishes? Yes, I can see that it's a uniquely private moment between a plate and a woman. I'm so sorry I intruded.'

Scarlet, the tea towel still clutched in her white-knuckled fingers, spun around, her eyes flashing green. ‘You can laugh, but I doubt if you'd like it if I dropped in at your office or home any time I felt like it.'

‘And do you feel like dropping in on me often?'

Scarlet refused to drop her eyes in face of the glittering challenge she saw in his. ‘All the time,' she drawled sarcastically, ‘but so far I'm keeping my impulses under control.'

God knew how long that would last. He looked incredibly gorgeous tonight in a grey designer tee shirt and jeans.

His eyes dropped and lingered on the lush contours of her slightly parted lips. Scarlet felt the predictable debilitating weakness spread through her body. She had no doubt at all that his action was cynically deliberate and indicated nothing more than the fact he got some twisted enjoyment out of seeing her get confused, but she was unable not to react to it.

‘Not on my account—
I'm
all for following your natural instincts,' Roman said. Scarlet felt the heat unfurl low in her belly and fought the insidious effects of his warm honeyed voice.

‘I'm not interested in your natural instincts except when they result in you letting Sam down.' Anger at her own weakness made her voice harsh. ‘Rule number one,' she outlined coldly, ‘is you don't make promises to Sam you can't keep. I won't have him disappointed because you had a better offer!' she flared contemptuously.

Roman's chin went up to a haughty angle, his nostrils flared, but the signalled anger didn't arrive. Instead his hard boned features relaxed into a speculative expression as he studied her face with a curiosity that rang alarm bells in her head.

‘Is this really about
Sam's
disappointment?'

‘Of course.'

‘Or are you jealous that I spent the evening with someone else?' he suggested silkily. ‘Did you miss me?'

Scarlet swallowed. ‘In your dreams!'

‘Yes, just lately you are, and the fact is I'd much prefer to have you in my bed,' he acknowledged, his voice roughened with frustration. ‘And I'm damned sure you'd like to be there. The question is, why aren't you?'

‘I slept with you once.'

‘It hadn't slipped my memory.'

His sardonic interruption brought a militant gleam to her eyes. ‘And you know perfectly well why it's a bad idea, we've been through all that.'

‘Remind me.' His eyes were as hard and unforgiving as slate as they drilled into her.

‘I can see you're in a mood…'

His head went back, exposing the strong brown line of his throat, and he gave a derisive snort. ‘And you wonder why?'

‘I think you're just being awkward for the sake of it!' she accused.

‘I can do awkward, but this isn't it.' His dark eyes flashed angrily. ‘Where is Sam?'

‘Upstairs in number ten playing with Tessa, Isobel's little girl.'

‘The woman upstairs?'

Scarlet nodded. ‘Her little girl is about Sam's age—they get on really well.'

‘That's convenient.'

‘Are you suggesting that it's handy for me to have someone to dump Sam on?'

‘No.'
Without Roman raising his voice the softly spoken denial stilled the angry words spilling from her. ‘That's not what I'm suggesting.'

Scarlet's shoulders relaxed but the frown that furrowed her smooth brow remained. ‘But you are suggesting something?' she speculated shrewdly.

He shrugged and smiled back at her in that infuriatingly enigmatic way he had.

‘I think this weekend might be a good time for a trip to Ireland.'

Very slowly Scarlet finished wiping the mug in her hand and replaced it on the counter. ‘Have a nice time,' she said in a voice that was carefully devoid of all expression.
My God, I'm going to miss him!
The recognition of how much was a shock. ‘I might invite Isobel over for tea,' she added brightly. ‘Sam gets on well with her little girl.'

‘So you said.'

‘Sorry if I'm boring you,' she returned childishly.

‘Scarlet, I'm not going to Ireland alone.'

Stupid me, of course he isn't.
With horror she recognised the sickening feeling that stabbed through her as jealousy, which was stupid; she had wanted it this way. Was that why he was spelling it out? Had he picked up before she had on the possessive feelings she was developing…?

‘Anyone I know?' she asked casually.

‘You and Sam. My father would like to meet you both.'

Scarlet's blinked. ‘Me and Sam?' she echoed. ‘I don't understand.'

‘Neither do I,' he remarked cryptically before taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face up towards him. The dark spiky lashes lifted off her cheek and big almond-shaped eyes that he knew could vary in shade quite dramatically stared back up at him.

‘I'd like you and Sam to come home with me to Ireland,' he repeated patiently. His brows lifted and he gave a lopsided grin and exasperation slipped into his voice as he asked, ‘Who the hell did you think I was going to take home to meet my parents?'

An image of several beauties his name had been linked with flashed through her mind as she shook her head. ‘I really don't care.' She moved her head and his light touch fell away.

‘Then what do you care about?'

The soft question had a curious driven quality to it that brought her eyes back to his face.

I could look at that face for ever and never get tired of looking.
‘The fact that no matter what you promise the moment my back is turned you're there again organising my life, Sam's life, and taking over!' she accused hoarsely.

‘You're being ridiculous,' Roman contended, looking genuinely bewildered by her accusation.

‘Fine, so you don't expect us to come with you just like that!' She clicked her fingers but the dampness on her skin prevented the action producing a satisfying crack.

Roman clicked his tongue and shook his dark head form side to side. ‘Not like that, like this,' he said, taking her empty hand and arranging her thumb and forefinger in the required position. ‘It's all in the tension.'

Of that there was plenty!

His touch was light, clinical almost, but the softest touch from him sent every nerve ending in her body awake and screaming for more. A terrible surge of longing welled up in her; it was so intense that she could feel it in her bones. Their eyes connected and a voluptuous shiver ran all the way to her toes.

Angrily she snatched her hand away and rubbed it up and down against her thigh. Her eyes were wary and fiery as she avoided direct eye contact.

‘It didn't occur to you it would have been a nice gesture to
ask
not
inform
?'

The impatience in Roman's face visibly increased as she spoke. ‘Or I could have been really subtle and let you think it was your idea all along?' he suggested.

‘Only you could call manipulative straightforward.' She shook her head incredulously—he really was a one-off. ‘I don't suppose that it occurred to you that I might have made other plans, did it? No,' she added without giving him an opening to respond. ‘It wouldn't, because you never consider anyone else but yourself!' she declared angrily.

Roman's eyes lifted. They were smouldering.

‘I didn't consider that you'd made plans because as far as I can see you don't have a social life.'

‘Not one like yours, certainly.'