‘Why not?’
‘A hundred why nots,’ she retorted, trying to laugh but sounding strained as she reminded him, ‘My work is here, Gianfranco.’
‘There are hospitals in Italy.’
‘I don’t speak Italian, it takes time to learn a language and I need to earn a living … God, will you listen to me?’ she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her head and rolling her eyes. ‘I sound as though I’m actually considering it.’
‘You don’t need to worry about earning a living straight away—I’m not exactly a poor man.’
Beside him she stiffened. ‘You’re suggesting I should pack in my job, leave my friends and come with you to Italy as your mistress?’
‘Not mistress precisely,’ he admitted.
But now that he thought about it he could see the very definite advantages to this plan. It wasn’t until she turned her head and he saw her expression that it dawned on him that Dervla was not warmed to the idea.
He continued to study her and thought about the women, he could think of several, who might manage to simulate a little enthusiasm at the prospect of the lap of luxury as his mistress.
‘Well, what else would you call a woman when a man pays her bills in return, of course, for certain favours?’ she enquired with withering contempt. Her bosom heaved as she choked. ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life!’
Her anger seemed totally inexplicable to Gianfranco. ‘You are insulted?’
He wondered whether to inform her that the post that apparently filled her with such disgust was one that any number of women had angled for over the years.
‘Damn right,’ she ground through clenched teeth. ‘Do I seem to you like the sort of woman who would make herself reliant on a man? A woman who would give up her independence? Waiting until I’m twenty-six to discover sex might in retrospect make me a fool, but not that much of a fool.’
‘So is that it? Now that you have discovered sex, you are anxious to experiment.’ An image of the faceless men who would continue the education he had begun flashed into his head. The throbbing in his temples became a pulsating thud.
After staring at him in stunned silence for a moment, she threw back her head and laughed. Her eyes were sparkling with anger as she said in a flat little voice, ‘And I have you to thank for my sexual liberation.’
‘Do not confuse promiscuity with liberation,’ he counselled severely, still seeing that line of predatory faceless males.
‘You’re accusing me of being promiscuous? That’s rich! That really is rich! The way I hear, you change women the same way a normal man changes his shirt. If you were a woman and not filthy rich people would call you some very nasty names. And they might be right!’
‘Dio mio!’ he breathed wrathfully. The women he took to his bed were experts at pleasing a man; they did not go out of their way to insult him.
It turned out she hadn’t finished with him yet.
‘You know, you’re the sort of man who can’t talk about his feelings and thinks it’s a sign of strength.’
‘Suddenly you know an awful lot about men—and me,’ he observed grimly.
She glared at him through shimmering green eyes and tossed her head contemptuously. ‘I know enough about you to know I never want to see you again.’ Snatching up her scattered clothes, she ran from the room.
He told himself that the turn of events, while frustrating, was for the best in the long run. Dervla Smith was too high maintenance. He threw aside the covers and vaulted to his feet, his toe caught in the lacy strap of her bra.
He returned it a week later when he proposed.
CHAPTER TEN
DERVLA’S apprehension increased as the limo pulled into the underground parking space of the London house. She swallowed past the nervous constriction in her throat as the car came to a halt and Eduardo switched off the engine.
Beside her Alberto clicked free his seat belt, nothing in his manner suggesting he shared her apprehension. Dervla couldn’t believe he was really that relaxed, but if he wasn’t, she thought, studying his stress-free, handsome young face, he was the world’s best actor.
Her brow furrowed; his attitude totally baffled her. Gianfranco might be an indulgent parent, but when Alberto overstepped the mark he came down hard. And by anyone’s definition he had overstepped the mark this time!
His father was going to go ballistic and Alberto had to know it.
She waited until Eduardo was out of hearing distance before she voiced the question that was uppermost in her mind.
‘Why did you do it?’
He had fed her a steady stream of information concerning the highlights of his journey, including the complicated romantic life of the lorry driver who had given him a lift to Calais—she might suggest he didn’t share that little anecdote with his father—but so far he hadn’t even hinted at any reason for the escapade.
Alberto looked at her and shrugged.
She sucked in a sharp breath. The similarity between father and son had never been more pronounced as the teenager slung her a look from under well-defined sable brows. ‘An impulse, I guess.’
Dervla rolled her eyes and begged with a groan, ‘Please don’t say that to your father, Alberto.’
‘Don’t worry about Dad, Dervla. I can handle him.’
Dervla’s mouth fell open. ‘You can handle …’ She began to laugh. The person had not been born who could handle Gianfranco.
The boy was not offended by her amusement. ‘It’s all right, really, Dervla. I’ve got it all under control.’
‘Have you suffered a head injury?’ Concussion would go some way to explaining his ill-judged confidence. ‘Sometimes, Alberto, there is a fine line between confidence and stupidity—in this instance there is a dirty great chasm!’
Alberto laughed.
‘Alberto!’ she protested. ‘This isn’t a joke. You can’t just run away.’
‘Why not, Dervla? You did.’
The gentle reminder made her flush to the roots of her hair. ‘That,’ she retorted, her eyes sliding from his, ‘is not the same at all. I’m an adult …’
‘And you’re married and I’m not.’
Dervla was starting to wonder who was meant to be defending reckless behaviour here. ‘Your father must have been beside himself.’
‘When you left he spent the night walking the floor. I could hear him all night.’
‘Really?’
