The Italian's Secret Baby (15 page)

Scarlet listened to him, growing paler and paler. She held up her hand. ‘Don't!' she pleaded. Her lower lip wobbled as a sob rose in her throat. ‘Why is this happening?' she wailed. ‘It's not fair.' A sigh shuddered through her as Roman's arms drew her against him and then closed around her.

She knew at some level that the safety his arms offered was an illusion, but it didn't actually seem to matter. What mattered was it felt warm and good.

‘I know it's not fair,' she heard him murmur into her hair. ‘It will pass, I promise, it will pass.' His hand ran down the curve of her back and with a sigh she snuggled a little closer.

She sensed the tension in his lean body as he drew slightly back from her and she lifted a tear-stained face in enquiry.

With a fierce tenderness that stopped her heart in its tracks Roman ran a finger down the curve of her cheek, then smoothed the hair back from her brow.

‘So you'll come to Ireland with me.'

Scarlet's heart was beating very hard. ‘Right now I'd go anywhere with you,' she confided huskily.

‘Does that include to bed?'

‘Especially there.'

With a soft cry she walked into his open arms.

‘W
HEN
you said you were phobic about flying why didn't you also mention that you get seasick?' Roman asked as Scarlet emerged from the ladies' loo where she had spent ninety per cent of the journey so far.

Scarlet shot him a look of intense dislike, and grabbed the back of the seat to steady herself before she lowered herself on the seat beside the sleeping toddler.

‘But this feels like a force-ten gale,' she declared, averting her eyes from the grey heaving waves visible through the window. ‘I wish I could sit outside—I always feel better outside. Why isn't there a deck?' she complained querulously.

Roman laughed. ‘Do you prefer a conventional ferry with a deck or this fast ferry which halves the crossing time?'

She nodded glumly. ‘I see your point.'

‘And for the record there isn't a wave to be seen—it's as calm as a millpond. I've crossed when—'

Scarlet lifted a hand to her forehead. ‘Spare me the stories of your heroics, please?' she begged sourly. ‘I'm surprised you've ever been on a ferry.'

‘I did some island hopping when I was a student, but, no, this isn't my preferred mode of transport.' It had taken him ten minutes to convince Alice he was serious when he'd asked her to book three tickets on a ferry across the Irish Sea.

‘Sorry you're slumming it on my account.'

‘It's been a revelation,' he assured her drily.

‘You're such a snob.'

‘I did crew on a yacht in a cross-Atlantic race once.'

‘I suppose you won?'

‘No, we came last.'

‘How very human of you,' she snapped with bitchy relish.

She closed her eyes. There was no question that she could ever form any sort of meaningful relationship with someone who ate a full English breakfast on board a boat. She opened one eye. ‘Thank you for looking after Sam.'

‘A pleasure. Perhaps I should have booked us into a hotel overnight before the drive.'

‘No, I'll be fine once I'm on land that doesn't move,' she promised him.

Roman considered her pallid complexion but kept his doubts to himself. ‘You
really
prefer this to flying?'

‘I've never actually flown,' she confided.

‘Never?'

The amazement from someone who considered getting on a plane the same way most people thought of getting in a cab brought a wan smile to her lips.

‘I tried it once but the stuff the doctor prescribed didn't mix too well with the whisky I drank in the bar before I boarded. I passed out and they had to stretcher me out. Abby was so embarrassed,' she recalled, ‘that she pretended she didn't know me.'

‘So you got left at home?'

Something in his voice brought her puzzled scrutiny to his face. ‘I didn't actually mind. I'm not really a lazing-on-a-beach sort of person.'

‘Shopaholic or culture vulture?'

‘There are some places I would like to see one day,' she admitted, covering her mouth to conceal a wide yawn. ‘Rome, Paris…you know…maybe when Sam is older.'

The hand that brushed the hair from her forehead made her start.

‘You're tired.'

She sensed activity to her right just a split second before Roman leapt up from his seat.

She turned in time to see Roman pull a middle aged man who was slumped in his seat down onto the floor. He proceeded to loosen the man's collar and felt at his neck for a pulse before Scarlet's brain had registered what was going on.

The woman who had been sitting beside the unconscious—
please, God, let him be alive
—man began to scream and people began to shout. It said something for Roman's natural air of command that when he lifted his hand to indicate he needed silence, just before he placed his ear to the man's chest, a hush fell.

He straightened up and struck the man with some force on his chest. He then tilted the man's head back and pinched his nose. ‘Anybody here know CPR?' he asked in the same non-urgent way he'd done everything else. As he bent to breathe into the man's mouth a scruffy-looking teenager counted him out before applying compressions to the man's chest in an expert way.

They continued this until two members of staff took over from them. Another member of staff politely asked the passengers sitting in the near vicinity to move. Scarlet was struggling to transfer herself and a very sleepy Sam to another part of the boat when Roman appeared at her side.

‘Come on up here, champ,' he said, casually lifting Sam up one-handed. ‘Give this to me,' he added, indicating the holdall she had looped over her shoulder.

‘I can manage.' He treated her to one of his trade-mark ironic looks—the ones that made her feel incredibly childish—and she handed it over with a sigh.

‘This weighs a ton. I don't know why women need to cart so much junk around with them.'

Scarlet couldn't let this sexist criticism pass. ‘For your information, virtually nothing in there is mine. Sam doesn't travel light. There are the changes of clothes—'

‘
Changes—?
You've got more than one set in there?'

‘You don't know many three-year-olds, do you, Roman?' she observed, dealing him a superior look. ‘Then there's the waterproof in case it rains and drinks…
obviously
. A packed lunch because he's a bit of a fussy eater and some crayons and a—'

A smile tugged at the corners of Roman's mobile lips as he listened to her narrate the contents. ‘All right, I get the picture.'

Having secured them alternative seats, he turned to Scarlet, his dark eyes sweeping assessingly over her pale features. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Fine.'

He looked less than convinced. ‘I admire your stoical attitude—' in Scarlet's opinion his attitude suggested exasperation rather than admiration ‘—but only this morning I thought turning green was a figure of speech. A boat journey with you has taught me otherwise.'

‘That poor man tends to put seasickness into proportion.' She gave a quick glance at Sam and saw he was happily preoccupied. Fortunately he had slept right through the crisis. ‘How…how is he? He's not…?' She hardly dared ask.

‘He started breathing.'

Scarlet gave a noisy sigh of relief. ‘Well thank goodness for that!'

‘He's hardly out of the woods yet,' Roman warned.

Scarlet shook her head in agreement. ‘But he has a chance, thanks to you,' she added warmly.

‘Basic first aid is all.' Roman seemed inclined to make light of his contribution. ‘If I hadn't got there first someone else would have done what was needed. The ferry company staff are pretty well equipped to cope until the helicopter arrives.'

‘They're going to air-lift him to hospital? Is that possible while we're at sea?'

Roman nodded. ‘The bad news is it involves stopping the engine so they can winch him off. I'm afraid this is going to add another half hour at least to the journey.'

Scarlet took a deep breath. ‘Right…' Under the circumstances she could hardly complain, even though being on the boat for a minute longer than necessary made her want to weep.

She felt his eyes on her face and lifted her chin. ‘Trust you to be a hero,' she condemned with a teasing little grimace.

An amazed laugh was drawn from her throat. ‘I'm embarrassing you, aren't I?' It was ironic—she tried her best to discompose him and failed miserably, when all she had to do apparently was say something nice about him.

‘Would you like something to eat?'

Scarlet closed her eyes and released a weak groan. ‘You really are a horrible man with no heart, you know that, don't you?'

‘I'm hurt.'

Even with her eyes closed she could hear the grin in his voice. ‘I live in hope.'

‘I'm just trying to take your mind off it.' He had thought of other methods but these might have got him arrested in a public place.

‘If you're about to suggest that it's all in my mind and all I need is positive thinking, I'll kill you. Also you are totally wrong—it's all in my inner ear; it's a balance thing.' Her eyes flickered open and a deep shudder ran all the way to her toes at a touch of warm air against her sensitive earlobe.

Roman, his hand braced on the head-rest of her chair, straightened up but didn't break eye contact. ‘A very nice ear,' he said, his voice doing almost as much damage to her nervous system as his warm breath had. ‘I could eat it.'

‘You really don't have to do this, you know.' She could barely hear her own voice above the clamour of her thudding heart. ‘Do?'

The circles of colour that appeared on the apples of her cheeks looked feverishly bright against her marble pallor.

‘Say…stuff. I really don't expect it, you know, just because we slept together once,' she assured him earnestly. ‘
All right
,' she conceded, ‘twice. But you can't really count the last time.'

Her reassurance wiped the smile right off his face. ‘You can't…Why?' A nerve clenched hard in his lean cheek as he brought his hand along the side of her jaw. ‘Did you have your fingers crossed?'

Scarlet felt the heat rush to her cheeks. She glanced over her shoulder, aware that their conversation was a little personal for so public a place.

Their new seats were directly adjacent to a group of men who all wore rugby kit; the noise they were making made it unlikely they were going to hear anything she said. One of their number she had exchanged a few words with earlier caught her eye and winked.

Scarlet responded to his, ‘Hello, lovely girl,' with a grin and a wave before turning back to Roman.

‘It's not going to happen again,' she declared in a fierce undertone.

While she spoke he maintained an expression of polite disbelief that made her want to hit him.

‘Because you don't want it to?' he suggested in a light conversational tone.

‘I've not given it much thought.' Lies didn't get much bigger or more improbable.

‘Sure you haven't, as in you've not thought about much else.' He shook his head, the cynical twist to his wide, sensual mouth becoming more pronounced as he looked across at her miserable face. ‘Grow up, Scarlet,' he advised tautly. ‘There's absolutely no way we could share a bedroom and nothing happen,' he imparted simply.

The thing was his confidence was fully justified. ‘That might be true,' she admitted bitterly. ‘But I'm not sharing a bedroom with you so we won't find out!'

‘I've already explained the sleeping arrangements to my parents.'

‘Then you'll have to unexplain them.'

‘I can't do that.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because they expect an engaged couple to sleep in the same bed.'

She stilled and lost what little colour she had. ‘What did you say?'

‘You heard what I said, Scarlet.'

‘Why would your parents think we were engaged?' she enquired in a deceptively mild tone.

‘Because that's what I told them.'

She loosed an incredulous peal of laughter. ‘Have you lost your mind?' she exploded.

Roman's dark lashes lifted and his eyes glittered with an anger to match her own. ‘If I have the blame can be laid directly at your door. Mixed signals don't cover it,' he declared. ‘You introduced this ridiculous no-touch policy while at the same time you look at me with those big hungry eyes. It's enough to send the sanest man born round the bed.'

‘I do
not
have hungry eyes!'

His brows lifted. ‘Sure, and you just hate making love with me. The screams are actually a sign of how much you hate it.'

‘I don't scream!' she choked.

‘Like a banshee, but I like a woman who can let herself go.'

‘You,' she told him in a voice that quivered with outrage, ‘are crude and vulgar. A woman would have to be mad to marry you.'

‘And are you?'

She stilled, her wide eyes fixed on his face. ‘What do you mean?' she asked hoarsely.

‘Are you going to marry me, Scarlet?'

‘I thought it was a done deal,' she remarked bitterly.

He gave a sardonic lopsided smile but didn't reply.

‘You're thinking of Sam?' she suggested.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. When he did speak he appeared to be choosing his words with care. ‘I think he would approve. A proper family…maybe a brother or sister.'

She heard the rather worrying sound of slightly hysterical laughter. ‘You want a baby?'