how much he might want her, he wasn’t messing with her emotions.
‘What?’ she said.
He shook himself. ‘So your job is stable? Financially you’re...secure?’
He could’ve groaned when her face turned stormy.
He raised both hands. ‘No offence meant. Difficult conversations, remember?’
She blew out a breath and slumped back, offered him a tiny smile that speared straight into the centre of him. ‘I feel as if you’re quizzing me to make sure I’m suitable mother material.’
‘Not what I’m doing.’ He’d be the least qualified person on earth to do that.
She kinked an eyebrow. ‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘When I said I wanted to make things easier for you, I meant in every way.’
He saw the moment his meaning reached her. The hand she rested on the table—small like the rest of her—clenched. He waited with an internal grimace and a kind of fatalistic inevitability for her to throw something at him.
In amazement he watched as her hand unclenched again. ‘I keep forgetting that you don’t really know me.’
He knew the shape of her legs, the dip of her waist and the curves of her breasts. He knew the feel of her skin and how she tasted. Hunger rushed through him. He closed his eyes. He had to stop this.
‘One thing you ought to know is that I do have my pride.’ She pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. ‘I have both the means and the wherewithal to take care of myself and—’ her hand moved to cover her still-flat stomach ‘—whoever else comes along. I have a share in Vigneto Calanetti, I’m a qualified viticulturist, I work hard and I draw a good salary. It may not be in the same league as what you earn, Ryan, but it’s more than sufficient for both my and the baby’s needs. I think you ought to know that if you were to offer me money it would seriously offend me.’
Right. That was good to know, but... ‘What if I weren’t offering it to you, but to the baby?’
She frowned and gestured to his plate. ‘Are you finished?’ At his nod she glanced across the room and caught the maître d’s eye, wordlessly asking for the bill.
He let her distract herself with these things, but this money issue wasn’t something he’d let her ignore indefinitely. He had a financial responsibility to this child—a responsibility he was determined to meet. He left a generous tip and followed Marianna to the cobbled street outside. He glanced at her and then glanced around. ‘Your village is charming.’
It did what it was supposed to do—it cleared the frown from her face and perked her up. ‘This was a stronghold back in medieval times. Many of the stones from the wall have since been used to build the houses that came after, but sections of the wall still stand. Would you like to walk for a bit?’
‘I’d like that a lot. If you’re not feeling too tired.’
She scoffed at that and set about leading him through cool cobbled streets that wound through the town with a grace that seemed to belong to a bygone age. He found himself entranced with houses made from stone that had mellowed to every shade of rose and gold, with archways leading down quaint alleys that curved intriguingly out of view. There were walled gardens, quirky turrets and fountains in the oddest places. And all the while Marianna pointed out architectural curiosities and regaled him with stories from local folklore. Her skill on the subject surprised him.
It shouldn’t. Her quick wit and keen intelligence had been evident from their very first meeting.
Her enthusiasm for her subject made her eyes shine. She gestured with her hands as if they were an extension of her mind. His gut tightened as he watched her. Hunger roared through him...
He wrenched his gaze heavenwards. For heaven’s sake, can’t you get your mind off sex for just ten minutes?
‘I’m boring you.’
He swung back to her. ‘On the contrary, I’m finding all of this fascinating.’ He refused to notice the shape of her lips. ‘You obviously love your town.’
‘It’s my home,’ she said simply. ‘I love it. I missed it when I was in Australia.’ She frowned up at him. ‘Don’t you love your home?’
Something inside him froze.
Her frown deepened. ‘Where is your home, Ryan?’
‘Have you heard the saying “Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home”? That pretty much sums me up.’
She halted, hands on her hips. ‘But you have to live somewhere when you’re between assignments. I mean, where do you keep your belongings?’
‘I have office facilities in Sydney and London, and staff who work for me in both locations, but...’ He shrugged.
Her eyes grew round. ‘What? Are you telling me that you just live out of hotel rooms?’
‘Suites,’ he corrected.
‘But—’ She frowned. ‘What about your car? Where do you keep that?’
‘Whenever I need a car, I hire one.’
‘Then what about the gifts people give you, your books and CDs, photographs, art you’ve gathered and... Oh, I don’t know. The myriad things we collect?’
‘I travel light. All I need is a suitcase and my laptop.’
She eased away from him, those dark eyes surveying him. ‘I wasn’t so wrong about you after all,’ she finally said. ‘You are a kind of gypsy.’
She didn’t look too pleased with her discovery. He shrugged. ‘While we’re on the subject of accommodation, perhaps you could recommend somewhere for me to stay while I’m in Monte Calanetti?’
She folded her arms and frowned at him for a long moment and then tossed her head, eyes flashing. ‘Oh, that’s easy.’ She swung away and led him down an avenue that opened out into a town square. ‘If you’re going to help me get the cottage shipshape then you can stay there.’
His heart stuttered. ‘With you?’
Some of his horror must’ve seeped into his voice because she swung back with narrowed eyes. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘Not at all,’ he assured her hastily. Hell, yes! How on earth was he going to avoid temptation when he was living with her? He rolled his shoulders. Not that he could ask the question out loud. Not when she stood glaring at him like that.
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