escort one of Vittorio’s cast-off bimbos back to Tuscany without being lumbered with a heap of clutter that resembled a pile of rubbish left out for the refuse collectors.
Portia lifted her chin, her large grey eyes narrowing. Start as you mean to go on. Be assertive and brave for once in your life, she told herself as she took a deep breath and said shakily, ‘Sam needs his own things. Neither of us is going anywhere without them.’
Her stockpile of tins of baby formula, feeding bottles, steriliser, nappies, Babygros, creams and lotions, his special shampoo, not to mention all those cute fluffy toys which were valued gifts from friends and neighbours—she wasn’t prepared to leave a single thing behind.
They were all links with the safe and the known, and if she was going to have to live amongst strangers she was going to need them to cling onto, like a mental safety rope.
‘I’ll give you a hand.’ As if sensing insurrection, Godfrey Makepeace grabbed several carriers and headed for the door.
Portia felt her mother’s hand grip her arm, urging her forward as she muttered impatiently, ‘Don’t be tiresome! Look, I know you’re nervous about going to stay with strangers, but there’s no need. When your father phoned Signor Verdi senior to make sure everything was above board he was completely reassured.’
‘Dad did that?’ Portia’s gentle heart swelled with love and gratitude. ‘He really did check up for me?’
‘Of course. We’re not complete monsters.’
‘Oh.’ It was all she could manage to say; she couldn’t stop smiling. Deep down her parents did care about her, and little Sam, and that meant so much to her that she didn’t mind in the least being hustled down the short garden path to where a sedately gleaming Daimler was parked, its chauffeur already stowing all her despised luggage in the boot.
Even when Lucenzo loomed over her, his strong, lean face tight with displeasure, his dark eyes brilliant and incisive, she couldn’t wipe the beam of happiness from her face.
‘Get in,’ he ordered coldly, indicating the rear of the opulent car, taking the cot from her unresisting hands. Sucking in a shallow breath, he lifted the warm, shawl-wrapped bundle in careful hands and strapped the sleeping child in the car-seat.
At eight weeks Vittorio’s son had lost that crumpled new look; now he looked smooth and adorable, his shock of raven-dark hair proclaiming his heritage.
His heart lurched unexpectedly. Vittorio’s child.
If his half-brother had been a faithful, responsible husband then this baby would have been Lorna’s, and he would have welcomed the new generation of his family with pride and joy. As it was…
Sliding along the leather upholstery, Portia watched those long, elegantly boned fingers deal with the complicated-looking arrangement of straps. Then her eyes lifted to his face, intent on what he was doing. His incredibly thick and dark lashes cast pools of shadow against the olive-toned skin of his high, arrogant cheekbones and his mouth, passionate and sensual, was tight with concentration. He really was utterly gorgeous, she thought as a weird inner quiver made her mouth run dry. Something about the hard sweep of his wide shoulders encased in the finest tailoring made her think of male protectiveness as well as the domination she instinctively expected from him.
As he finished his task his dark eyes lifted to meet her fascinated gaze, and something strange shivered down her spine and curled wickedly in the pit of her stomach. Her softly curved mouth fell open as she struggled for breath, her eyes widening helplessly as she tried to come to terms with the unthinkable. She was being turned on by an arrogant pig who thought she was a cheap slag, not fit to be seen around his exalted family!
Huge eyes that had turned to shimmering liquid silver watched with mindless fixity as his dark gaze assimilated the hot colour she felt flood her face, the way her breath came in tiny anguished spurts, making her breasts lift and peak provocatively. Watched that long, beautiful mouth curl cynically down at one corner before he moved away, closing the car door with a decisive clunk and turning to speak to her parents.
Hardly knowing which was worse, her embarrassment or her humiliation, Portia knotted her hands together and stared rigidly ahead. She was unaware that they were actually moving, that she hadn’t properly said farewell to her parents, until she registered that Lucenzo Verdi had taken the driver’s seat, with the uniformed chauffeur sitting stiffly at his side.
Squashing her juvenile impulse to shriek, Stop this car! she turned her attention to her sleeping baby, rearranging the folds of his shawl to steady herself, to wipe away the memory of how she’d felt when Lucenzo’s dark eyes had clashed with hers.
She soon became absorbed in little Sam as his rosebud mouth curved in a windy smile. He was so perfect, from the top of his downy head to his tiny, tiny toenails! They were together, that was the most important thing, embarking on an adventure. And she, as his doting mother, would ensure that nothing happened to separate them. Ever!
At least the biggest fly in the ointment would take himself off to find more congenial company just as soon as he had delivered them to Sam’s Italian grandfather. She couldn’t wait!
Lifting her head, she met his glance in the rearview mirror and quickly looked away, her face going pink as she felt the thunder of blood at her pulse-points. She didn’t know what was happening here, but whatever it was she didn’t like it. She couldn’t be sexually aware of him—attracted—she couldn’t!
She stared fixedly out of the window at her side. The way a person looked had never cut much ice with her; it was what was inside that mattered. In fact, she had never really thought about Vito’s pretty-boy good-looks, having been more impressed by what she had been conned into believing was his determination to make good.
She sighed mournfully. And to cap it all the English early summer was living up to its not always deserved reputation. Raindrops were sliding down the glass like teardrops…
Lucenzo activated the windscreen wipers, concentrating on the airport approach. She was still smiling, he thought grittily. She had hardly stopped since she’d approached the car, safe in the knowledge that her dreams of getting her hands on as much as she could wrest from the bulging coffers of the Verdi family were about to become reality.
Except for that time when he’d glanced up from securing Vittorio’s baby in the car-seat and found her watching him with what he had only been able to interpret as blatant sexual invitation.
Was that the way she’d looked at Vittorio? A pink flush on her cheeks, her eyes eating him up, her soft lips parted, her breath coming in rapid little pants? Was that how it had happened—just one look? His half-brother wouldn’t have turned down such an offer.
Two hours later the private jet was airborne. Lucenzo, his long legs stretched out in front of him, extracted a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and tried to concentrate, to shut out the presence of the female at his side.
But that was proving difficult while she was playing with the baby who was gurgling back at her. And today she looked different from when he’d first seen her six weeks ago. Not so bunchy-looking now, in clean but well-worn jeans and a plain white T-shirt, her hair shining with health and caught into her nape with a scarlet ribbon.
Better, but in his jaded experience still not the type the unfaithful Vittorio had been constitutionally unable to resist—he had liked glitz and glamour, trophy women. But something had drawn him to this one. Perhaps, he thought as the flight attendant approached with a feeding
