his wayward hormones. ‘This is ridiculous! Let me in now!’ he ordered indignantly.
‘No. You wait!’ she repeated in agitation.
‘The devil I will!’ he raged. ‘Surely you don’t intend to keep me hanging around out here, prowling up and down like a caged tiger, while you—’
‘I have to!’ she cried, clearly agitated. ‘I can’t risk you snatching Lio while I’m changing!’ she flung.
Vittore flinched with horror at such a barbaric idea. ‘Snatch? Why should I snatch what is mine?’ he demanded in outrage.
‘Yours? Oh, help!’ she muttered. ‘Where do I begin? I’m just protecting Lio—’
‘From his own father?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Yes!’ Her hand swept impatiently over her forehead. ‘Look—you must wait. I promise I’ll let you in as soon as I can. I’m a quick dresser. I just can’t risk…’ She fidgeted in agitation, artistic fingers twisting and writhing together. ‘There’s something you have to know—’
‘What? Why?’ he grated in helpless fury. ‘And what right do you have to deny me? Just who the devil are you?’
‘I’m Verity,’ she replied wearily. ‘Verity Fox. I was adopted by the Foxes, like Linda. I’m Lio’s guardian. Stay there. Won’t be a sec.’
With that, she spun around, untwisted her skirts impatiently and gathered them up to reveal long, tanned and bare legs, which suddenly leapt into action and took her around the back of the house again in a flash of shimmering gold and white, all topped off by that night-dark, bobbing hair.
He dragged his mind from this vision, realising he was being left to stew.
‘Come back!’ he shouted angrily. ‘Verity! Come back at once—!’
He was talking to thin air. He felt like bellowing in his frustration. A nanny or au pair would have been easier to deal with than this stunning, feisty woman with a knockout body and a mind of her own!
He pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling as if he’d been standing in the path of a hurricane. He thrummed with life, aroused by Verity’s extraordinary persona, fired too by the tantalising knowledge that his son slept peacefully a hundred metres or so away.
Patience, he told himself, trying to calm his agitated mind. Five minutes, ten, an hour…what did those minutes matter in the long run? Lio was in the house. He’d scoop him up in his arms and never let him go. Soon. Soon.
But logic and sense couldn’t compete with months of deprivation. He wanted his child and had been without him too long.
‘For the love of heaven!’ he groaned contrarily.
How could he wait? How long did it take most women to undress, shower, choose something suitable… Hell. Hours, usually.
Suddenly incapable of remaining still, he began to loose off some of the energy that seemed to be stored in his body by striding up and down. Astonishingly, his mind had leapt away from Lio and had focussed on the woman who’d ignited his consciousness, imagining her in a room upstairs, peeling off that dress…
Per l’amor del cielo! What was he? Some sort of sex maniac that he should be distracted by a fabulous body at a time like this? It was true she was beautiful. Luscious. Perfect skin, incredible eyes, a mouth that had been made for kissing. And she was fiery. Passionate and apparently very caring.
He allowed himself a wry smile. No wonder she’d made such an impression on him! It was because his feelings were all over the place, his needs raw and hungry. He’d be more in control once he’d seen Lio. More tranquil.
‘Avanti!’ He muttered impatiently. Come on!
He had a child to hold and love, bags to pack, a flight to catch. A son to take home.
From the upstairs bedroom, the trembling Verity furtively observed Vittore as he fumed his way up and down beside the burglar-proof railings. Once he stopped and looked up at the spikes at the top and seemed to contemplate climbing over, but he then thought better of it and resumed his furious prowling, for all the world like the caged tiger he’d mentioned.
She gulped, her eyes wide with dismay. Never in the whole of her life had she seen anyone so angry. He simmered like a rumbling volcano about to erupt and devastate the countryside around.
Her heart thudded loudly. Vittore wouldn’t meekly go away when she explained that Lio oughtn’t to leave her. He’d never understand. She knew that he didn’t have an ounce of sensitivity in the whole of his body.
The nausea clawed at her stomach again. It looked horribly likely that she’d lose Lio. This was a situation she hadn’t expected, not in a million years.
She would never have given her heart so completely if she’d thought Vittore might turn up. Wouldn’t have allowed Lio to regard her as the centre of the universe. It would devastate her if Lio left. And how would he ever recover?
‘Oh, God!’ she whispered, appalled by the terrible dilemma.
This was Vittore’s child. But Lio was far too disturbed to be put in his father’s care. Verity held her stomach, willing herself not to be sick. She had to get through this, had to succeed, for Lio’s sake.
Her brain whirled with questions. Linda had lied when she’d said that Vittore was dead. Why? Had she run away? And if so, why? What kind of ogre was Vittore? Or was it his persistent infidelity that had been too painful to bear? Linda had been scathing about his womanising.
Verity took a good, hard look at him. Not that she didn’t know already how sensual he was, the kind of man who’d attract women like flies to his web.
That athletic and muscular body was packed with sexual impulses—which had, she could have sworn, been zapped at her once or twice. She’d certainly found herself reluctantly wilting under the intensity of his hot, sultry eyes. He even moved with a sexy fluidity that had made her knees go weak.
His air of sophisticated, man-of-the-world confidence was very appealing. Vittore’s hair was glossy; smooth and neat, now he’d swept back that poet’s lick back from his forehead. And he probably made good use of those melting chocolate eyes that had expressed several emotions in the short time they’d talked; flashing with tenderness, anger and longing.
She groaned in despair. It seemed that he wanted his child badly. Whether that was just a male need for a son and heir, or for a more profound and worthy reason, she didn’t know.
Linda’s boasts about their lifestyle could have been true. Clearly he was rich and successful, which meant he was used to getting whatever he wanted. She knew he headed the family textile business, with masses of exclusive outlets all over the world. So we’re talking about dynasties, she mused gloomily.
Even if she hadn’t seen the Mantezzini name above adverts for impossibly glamorous and expensive clothes, she could have recognised his wealth in the cut of his quiet, classy, soft-textured suit. It fitted him like a glove and had obviously been hand-made. Shoes, too. Probably the cream shirt and expensive silk tie had been laboured over with loving care as well. Yes, the playboy Italian looked groomed to the last immaculate inch.
Smelling
