you don’t.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m your appointment.’
When she turned to face him, she could see he was analysing this, examining her statement for meaning. ‘You pretended to be a journalist, simply to see me again?’
She nodded crisply.
‘Why not just give my assistant your name?’
‘Because I took a perverse pleasure in surprising you,’ she said honestly, and was rewarded with the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.
It was too familiar—too familiar for what they were to one another, and what they’d shared. Theirs had been no love story; it had been two strangers in a thunderstorm. She’d been caught up in the romance—the storm had raged and he’d arrived, offering refuge from a clawing sense of isolation. She’d been a means to an end for him, her virginity unimportant collateral in his quest to draw her under his spell.
‘You have surprised me,’ he agreed.
You haven’t seen anything yet, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head.
Was she really going to do this?
Of course! What was the alternative? Have his baby and never tell him? Just like her mother had done to her father?
No way would her baby know the pain of that. Amelia had grown up with no idea who her father was—half the time she wasn’t even sure her mother knew. She’d been a secret baby, a shameful love-child, unwanted, an accident, and there was no way her baby would ever grow up feeling like she had.
And didn’t Antonio deserve to know? Not just for the sake of their baby, but because this was his baby too?
Amelia might not have liked what had happened with her and Antonio; she certainly didn’t like the fact that he’d come to her cottage and seduced her without telling her they were part of an ancient blood feud, then expected her to hand over thirty per cent of a family business to him, but he was still a person. A person with inalienable rights. A man who would soon become a father and of course he deserved to know that.
Heaven help her if he decided he wanted to be a part of the child’s life on a regular basis, because that would mean she would also have to see him too, she supposed.
But Amelia doubted he’d want much to do with their child. It would be, after all, a diSalvo.
The thought had her tilting her chin, her eyes sparking defiantly with his. ‘This won’t take long,’ she assured him, thinking gratefully of the return flight she’d booked for later that same day.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged, perching his bottom on the edge of the desk, stretching his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
She ignored the throb low in her abdomen, the instant recognition of power and strength, the memory of how those legs had held her to the wall, pinning her with total ease, or straddled her body as he moved inside her. She looked away, her mouth dry. ‘Perhaps I will have some water,’ she said, stalking across the room to where the drinks were set up. She poured a small glass with hands that weren’t quite steady and sipped from it, then shut her eyes as her stomach instantly rejected the offering.
Damn it. She pressed her fingertips to the bench, blinking, willing her insides to calm down, not to be ill. Not here! Not now!
‘At the risk of appearing rude, I don’t have all day.’
It was exactly what she needed to bring herself back to the moment. She spun around, then wished she hadn’t when the room swayed a little. ‘You’re so far past appearing rude,’ she promised firmly. ‘And I won’t take much of your time.’
His eyes were studying her and she hated that. She hated that he could probably read every emotion that crossed her face, every feeling that was shredding her insides.
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
‘Don’t rush me.’
His laugh was sardonic. ‘You just told me this won’t take long.’
‘Yes, well, it doesn’t help when you’re staring at me as though you’d like to...’
* * *
She didn’t finish the sentence but that didn’t stop the immediate flash of desire in response to her suggestion. His expression softened as he allowed himself to do exactly what she’d said—to stare at her openly, to run his gaze over her body, remembering it precisely, and then lift to meet her eyes.
‘I’m staring at you,’ he corrected finally, ‘like a man wanting a woman to get to the point.’
* * *
That wasn’t completely true. Like Scheherazade’s King, he was willing her to spin out a story to elongate this encounter.
He was, frankly, still reeling from the fact she was here, in his office. In the weeks after that night, he’d thought about calling her. Hell, he’d contemplated flying back to England, driving to Bumblebee Cottage and demanding she listen to him—ideally in bed.
If she understood the nature of their families’ dispute, perhaps she’d look more sympathetically on his offer.
But he’d done neither in the end. Because he couldn’t think of seeing her again without seeing her as she’d been that night. The look of betrayal and hurt on her face had made him feel, almost for the first time in his life, ashamed.
And he’d hated that.
So he’d relegated her to the back of his mind, to his ‘past’, and told himself he’d forget about her.
Because she was a diSalvo, and what point was there in trying to get her to forgive him?
There were more issues between them than a simple one-night stand.
Wrong thought. Wrong thought. His mind threw up the memories and he sank into them, remembering her body, the sounds she’d made as pleasure had caressed her, the way she had kissed him as if her very life depended on it.
‘Have you reconsidered?’ he prompted, thinking of his more than generous deal to buy her shares in Prim’Aqua—and the way he was deliberately tanking diSalvo interests around the globe. Did she know?
‘No—’ she narrowed her eyes ‘—my shares aren’t for sale. And I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to hurt Carlo either. He’s very shrewd, great at what he does. You’re no threat to him.’
Antonio almost smiled. She wasn’t the first person to underestimate him, but truly she couldn’t be more wrong.
‘We’ll see.’ He shrugged with the appearance of calm.
Her eyes narrowed and he had the sense that she was analysing him now, looking for hidden meanings. ‘You really hate my family, don’t you?’
He expelled a soft breath. ‘Is it any wonder?’
Her neck moved delicately as she swallowed, and he realised suddenly that she looked tired. Beneath the make-up she wore—another change since the night in
