myself, he thought, considering his recent self-deception.
Damn the man—he always had an answer. ‘So, if he had come to you, what would you have done…?’
‘That depends. But I certainly wouldn’t have thrown good money after bad.’
‘You’d have let him go under?’ she accused, shocked by his unapologetic admission. ‘But that amount of money is absolutely nothing to you!’ she protested, clicking her fingers to underline her point. ‘My God, Alessandro, you’re so callous.’
‘I’d have told him to cut his losses and find something he wants to do. He is clearly doing something he neither enjoys or is suited to. I would have told him to find something he can be passionate about.’
‘You make it sound so easy, but Jonny isn’t like you…’
His jaw clenched. ‘You wish me to emulate your hero…?’
‘There’s no need to be stupid. Jonny is not my hero.’
Something flickered at the back of his dark eyes. There was a short, dense silence before he added huskily, ‘And am I?’
The question threw Sam totally off her stride. ‘Stupid? Or my hero…?’ She angled an uncertain look at his face and discovered nothing from his shuttered expression. Did he want to be her hero? It seemed pretty unlikely.
‘My hero would display a little bit of faith in me—not to mention have some respect for my views,’ she retorted, avoiding a direct answer. ‘But actually I don’t think I need a hero. Actually, I don’t think I need a lover.’
If the moment of shocked silence that followed her announcement had lasted another micro-second longer Sam would have retracted it. Only it didn’t.
‘You wish me to leave?’
Of course it might have been possible to retract her reckless words even then, if he had acted for a moment as if he gave a damn one way or the other. But he just stood there, looking remote in the way only he could, so she dug herself a little deeper and said, ‘Well, there doesn’t seem much point in you staying, does there?’
‘I will not impose on you any longer,’ he said, looking so stiff and starchy she almost expected him to click his heels!
She felt numb with shock and disbelief as he walked out of the door, but still managed to scream a defiant, ‘Good riddance!’ at the top of her lungs, before bursting into noisy, emotional sobs.
She eventually convinced herself that she was better off without him.
It took her twelve hours of intermittent weeping and numerous attempts to trivialise her feelings for Alessandro to arrive at this conclusion, but when she got there she knew it was a plateau—a point from which her life could move on in an infinitely saner and more productive direction. It was, she told herself, good that things had come to a head when they had. It wasn’t as if she had ever thought the relationship had staying power.
After all, she was far too old to believe in fairy tales, and if the last few weeks had taught her anything they had taught her that she didn’t want a life fraught with dramatic ups and downs. It might suit some people, but she liked an ordered, organised existence, and she was looking forward to things getting back to normal.
Of course at that point Sam didn’t realize that normal had vanished for ever. That happened a week later.
Chapter Eleven
DOOR keys held in her teeth, one bag balanced on her hip, a sheaf of property leaflets under her arm and two bags of groceries gradually cutting off the circulation to her fingers, Sam climbed the stairs to her second-floor flat. There were many plus points about living on the second floor of this tasteful Edwardian conversion, including a lovely view of the park, but carrying her weekly groceries upstairs was not one of them.
The impossibility of ferrying groceries, a buggy and a baby was one of the reasons she had done a trawl of the local estate agents after she’d waved goodbye to her mother.
God knew how her mother had guessed, but at least she had been spared finding the right moment to tell her parents. She was pretty sure that, despite her mother’s solemn promise not to tell her father yet, it wouldn’t be long before he also knew.
Her mother always meant it when she said conspiratorially, We won’t tell your father about this, Sam. But it didn’t really matter if this was the price of a new pair of shoes or a dent in the new car, the moment George Maguire walked through the door she blurted out the truth. Not only was she incapable of keeping a secret from her husband, she appeared blind to this defect in her character.
Sam had dropped the bags and retrieved the keys from her mouth before she realised she had a visitor.
‘I have been waiting for an hour.’
The breath left her lungs in one gasp as she spun around. Stunned to silence, she just stared. Alessandro, minus his suit but complete with the restless vitality she would always associate with him, stood there. His long legs sheathed in a pair of faded denims, he slouched elegantly, one ankle crossed over the other and his broad shoulders wedged against the wall of the hallway she shared with the other top floor flat.
As she stared, her emotions a turbulent cocktail of longing and loathing, he levered himself off the wall. The black designer T-shirt he wore was fitted enough to allow her to see the tightening of the muscles in his flat belly…She blinked hard to banish the image and bit down on her lower lip.
It had been three weeks since she had last seen him, and she had counted every second.
‘You…here…’ As if there was any doubt about it! The touch of his dark compelling eyes, the scent of his body…God, who else but Alessandro could reduce her to a mindless bundle of hormonal craving by his mere presence?
What was more to the point was why?
He arched a brow and looked her up and down. ‘You were expecting someone else?’
Failing miserably to adopt the desired attitude of defiance to mask her real feelings, Sam mutely shook her head. Hands clenched into tight balls, she didn’t even notice the pain as her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. This, she decided, was the substance of nightmares. Thinking of nightmares turned her thoughts to the frequent occasions when he had featured in her more torrid nocturnal dreams. A rush of shamed heat slammed through her body.
‘You’re here…’
‘We have covered that,’ he said, making no attempt to conceal his growing impatience.
‘Well, why…?’
‘Yes, I am here…for an hour I have been here.’ His narrow-eyed, disapproving glance roamed hungrily over her slender body. His manner was terse and impatient as he looked down his patrician nose and demanded, ‘Where the hell have you been?’
The flight back from New York had begun productively enough. He had been working his way through the pile of paperwork he had brought with him with his usual methodical speed. Then, somewhere mid-Atlantic, he had allowed the infuriating redhead to creep insidiously into his head. She was on another continent, she was a distraction—yet his body had responded to
