for today, don’t you?’ he drawled. He lifted one hand from the steering wheel to point straight ahead. ‘We’re skirting Rome now and if you look over there you’ll soon be able to see Lake Nemi.’
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger as she tried to concentrate. ‘And that’s where you live?’
‘That’s where I live,’ he agreed.
They didn’t say much for the rest of the journey, but at least Keira felt she knew a little more about him. And yet it was only a little. He had the air of the enigma about him. Something at the very core of him which was dark and unknowable and which seemed to keep her at arm’s length. Behind that formidable and sexy exterior lay a damaged man, she realised—and something about his inner darkness made her heart go out to him. Could they make it as a couple? she wondered as they drove through a beautiful sheltered valley and she saw the silver gleam of the lake. Would she be a fool to want that?
But the stupid thing was that, yes, she did want that, because if Santino was to have any kind of security—the kind she’d always longed for—then it would work best if they were a couple. Her living with Matteo Valenti as his lover and mother to his son...would that be such a bad thing?
Her daydreaming was cut short by her first sight of Matteo’s villa and she began to wonder if she was crazy to ever imagine she would fit in here. Overlooking Lake Nemi, the apricot-coloured house was three storeys high, with high curved windows overlooking acres of beautifully tended gardens. And she soon discovered that inside were countless rooms, including a marble-floored dining room and a ballroom complete with a lavish hand-painted ceiling. It felt more like being shown round a museum than a house. Never had her coat felt more threadbare or the cuffs more frayed as it was plucked from her nerveless fingers by a stern-faced butler named Roberto, who seemed to regard her with complete indifference. Was he wondering why his powerful employer had brought such a scruffy woman to this palace of a place? Keira swallowed. Wasn’t she wondering the same thing herself?
After ringing the farmhouse and being told by Paola that Santino was lying contentedly in his pram in the garden, Keira accepted the tiny cup of espresso offered by a maid in full uniform and sat down on a stiff and elegant chair to drink it. Trying to ignore the watchful darkness of Matteo’s eyes, she found herself thinking about the relaxed comfort of the farmhouse and felt a pang as she thought about her son, wondering if he would be missing his mama. As she drank her coffee she found herself glancing around at the beautiful but cavernous room and suppressed a shiver, wondering how much it must cost to heat a place this size.
‘Why do you live here?’ she questioned suddenly, lifting her gaze to the dark figure of the man who stood beside the vast fireplace.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I? It has a fresher climate than the city, particularly in the summer months when it can get very hot. And it’s a valuable piece of real estate.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ She licked her lips. ‘But it’s enormous for just one person! Don’t you rattle around in it?’
‘I’m not a total hermit, Keira,’ he said drily. ‘Sometimes I work from here—and, of course, I entertain.’
The question sprang from her lips before she could stop it. ‘And bring back loads of women, I expect?’
The look he shot her was mocking. ‘Do you want me to create the illusion that I’ve been living a celibate life all these years?’ he asked softly. ‘If sexual jealousy was the reason behind your question?’
‘It wasn’t!’ she denied, furious with herself for having asked it. Of course Matteo would have had hundreds of women streaming through these doors—and it wasn’t as if he were her boyfriend, was it? Her cheeks grew red. He never had been. He was just a man who could make her melt with a single look, no matter how much she fought against it. A man who had impregnated her without meaning to. And now he was observing her with that sexy smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he was perfectly aware that beneath her drab, chain-store sweater her breasts were hungering to feel his mouth on them again. She could feel her cheeks growing warm as she watched him answer his mobile phone to speak in rapid Italian and when he’d terminated the call he turned to look at her, his hard black eyes scanning over her.
‘The car is outside waiting to take you into the city centre,’ he said. ‘And the stylist will meet you there.’
‘A stylist?’ she echoed, her gaze flickering uncertainly to her scuffed brown boots.
‘A very famous stylist who’s going to take you shopping.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you might need a little guidance.’
His condescension only intensified Keira’s growing feelings of inadequacy and she glared at him. ‘What, in case I opt for something which is deeply unsuitable?’
His voice was smooth. ‘There is a different way of looking at it, Keira. I don’t expect you’ve been given unlimited use of a credit card before, have you?’
Something in the way he said it was making Keira’s blood boil. ‘Funnily enough, no!’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is you! I bet you’re just loving this,’ she accused. ‘Does flashing your wealth give you a feeling of power, Matteo?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Actually, I was hoping it might give you a modicum of pleasure. So why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up before the car takes you into the city?’
Keira put her empty cup down on a spindly gold-edged table and rose to her feet. ‘Very well,’ she said, forcing her stiff shoulders into a shrug.
‘By the way,’ he said as he gestured for her to precede him, ‘I notice you didn’t make any comment about my driving on the way here.’
‘I thought it might be wise, in the circumstances.’
‘But as a professional, you judged me favourably, I hope?’
She pursed her lips together. ‘You were okay. A little heavy on the clutch, perhaps—but it’s a great car.’
She took a stupid and disproportionate pleasure from the answering humour which gleamed from his eyes before following him up a sweeping staircase into a sumptuous suite furnished in rich brocades and velvets, where he left her. Alone in the ballroom-sized bathroom, where water gushed from golden taps, Keira dragged the hairbrush through her hair, wondering what on earth the stylist was going to think about being presented with such unpromising raw material.
But the stylist was upbeat and friendly—even if the store on the Via dei Condotti was slightly terrifying. Keira had never been inside such an expensive shop before—although in her chauffeuring days she’d sat outside places like it often enough, waiting for her clients. A slim-hipped woman named Leola came forward to greet her, dressed in an immaculate cream dress accessorised with gleaming golden jewellery and high-heeled patent shoes. Although she looked as if she’d stepped straight off the catwalk, to her credit, she didn’t seem at all fazed by Keira’s appearance, as she led her around the shop and swished her fingertips over rail after rail of clothes.
In the chandelier-lit changing room, she whipped a tape measure around Keira’s newly abundant curves. ‘You have a fantastic figure,’ she purred. ‘Let’s show it off a little more, shall we?’
‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,’ said Keira quickly.
