does everyone else in the house. She was still in a state of shock, she knew. She had almost persuaded herself that the unbelievable events of the morning had never happened. Now, like something out of a dream, the man was standing in front of her again.
Rafaello di Viscenti… The name rolled around her brain like a verbal caress. The name suited him absolutely, she realised, perfectly complementing the image he presented of the luxury-class Italian male.
She blinked, realising she was staring at him gormlessly. He crossed to the table in the room, which served as dining table and general work surface, and placed an elegant leather document case down upon it, from which he proceeded to withdraw a wad of documents.
‘I have had the requisite papers drawn up,’ he informed her. ‘Please read them before you sign them.’
Magda swallowed. ‘Er…I’m not signing anything, Mr Viscenti.’
‘Di Viscenti,’ he said. ‘You will be Signora di Viscenti. You must learn the correct form of address.’
Magda rubbed the suddenly damp palms of her hands surreptitiously on her trousers. ‘Um…Mr di Viscenti, I…er…I…er…don’t think I can help you. Really. It’s all a bit too…er…weird for me…’
She cast around in her mind desperately, trying to find a tactful way of saying that the whole thing was so flaky she wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.
His arched eyebrows rose. ‘Weird?’ he echoed. Then, brusquely, he nodded. ‘Yes, it is weird, Miss Jones. But, as I explained to you this morning, I have no choice—it is a matter of who controls our family business, Viscenti AG, the details of which need not trouble you. But it is sufficient reason for me to require a very temporary marriage, under very controlled circumstances, to meet certain…conditions…that amount to nothing more than an empty legality. It is a mere formal exercise for which, unfortunately, my marriage—even though a temporary one—is necessary.’
‘But why to me?’ she burst out. ‘A man like you could pick any woman to marry.’
Rafaello accepted the ingenuous compliment as nothing more than the obvious. ‘Think of my proposition not as a marriage, but as a job, Miss Jones. A very temporary job.’ His voice became dry. ‘That was something the previous…candidate…found difficult to accept.’ He made a very Italian gesture with his hand. ‘The woman you encountered this morning?’ he prompted.
‘You were going to marry her?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately she…withdrew at the last moment. Hence,’ he went on with heavy civility, ‘my urgent need for a replacement. I must marry as soon as possible.’
‘But why me?’ Magda persisted. It still seemed so totally absurd. However, she had to admit that the knowledge that he had been on the point of entering into this weird marriage he wanted with that underdressed cow who had stormed out of his apartment this morning did make what he was proposing more credible. But it still left his choice of herself as a replacement incredible. After all, surely a man like that would know women like that first one by the score.
‘Because there is one essential difference between you…and women like her. Amanda wanted the money I was going to pay her. You…’ He paused and looked at her, and his eyes suddenly seemed to see right into the heart of her. ‘You need the money. That makes you more…reliable.’
Magda stilled.
Remorselessly he went on.
‘You do need the money, Miss Jones. You need it desperately. You need it to save you—and your child.’ His dark eyes held hers, holding her as if he were the devil himself. Tempting her beyond endurance. ‘You can’t go on living here—you know you can’t. You have to get out—you know that. My money will let you do that. It’s a life-raft for you—and your child. Take it—take the money I’m offering you.’
Her face had paled. He could see the emotions working. Ruthlessly, as if he were driving yet another hard-nosed business deal, he pressed his advantage. The thump of the music vibrated in every stick of furniture in the shabby bedsit.
‘I hold the key to a new life for you—a new future—in exchange for four weeks of your life now. That’s all I ask of you in exchange. A month in my company—and then you are free. Free—with enough money to get you out of here for ever…’
His eyes were boring into hers. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. Could hardly breathe.
‘I…I don’t know who you are…You could be anyone…’ Her voice was faint.
His chin tilted with an inborn arrogance that had been bred into his genes. She could see that.
‘I am Rafaello di Viscenti. The di Viscentis are a family of the utmost respectability and antiquity. I am chief executive of Viscenti AG. It is a company valued at well over four hundred million euros. I do not usually—’ there was a distinct bite in his voice ‘—have to present my credentials.’
Magda swallowed. ‘Yes, well,’ she mumbled, ‘I don’t exactly move in those circles…’
‘And the offer I have made you,’ he went on, with that same edge of hauteur in his voice, ‘is exactly what I have outlined to you. There are no hidden clauses, no tricks to deceive you. You may talk everything through with my lawyers if you wish. What is in those papers—’ he gestured with his hand to the documents on the table ‘—is what you will get. Now, tell me, if you please, what is stopping you from signing them?’
You, she wanted to shout. It’s you. She stared at him wildly. I can’t marry a man who looks like you, who’s as rich as you, who’s as gorgeous as you—I can’t marry a man, no matter what for, or how temporarily, who looks as if he’s stepped out of a celebrity mag. It’s absurd. It’s nuts. It’s…
A wail distracted her. Benji, bored with posting shapes, had knocked over the tower and started to howl. Automatically Magda collapsed back on the bed and lifted him up to her knees, hugging his firm little body. The sobs ceased, and Benji twisted round in her lap to pay some attention to the stranger in the middle of the room. Magda’s arms wrapped round him, and she felt his little heart beat against hers.
‘A hundred thousand pounds,’ said Rafaello softly. ‘Think…think…what you could do with it…’
Magda’s body started to rock…Go away, she thought desperately, go away. Take your designer suit and your expensive briefcase and go…go before I give in, before you tempt me like Lucifer himself…
‘You wouldn’t be doing it for yourself. You’d be doing it for your baby.’
She shut her eyes, trying to block out that soft, seductive voice.
‘If I walk out now—never to come back—how will you live with yourself? Knowing you turned down the chance to get your baby out of here, for ever?’
She went on rocking, her arms wrapped so closely around Benji that he began to protest.
‘Four weeks—no more than that—in my family home in Italy, which is very respectable, Miss Jones, I do assure you—and then you’re free.’
‘Benji comes with me.’ Her voice was high-pitched.
Rafaello spread his hands.
