The Italian's Secret Baby (4 page)

‘She's kind; I hardly did anything,' she replied with suitable modesty, and for the second time that morning she had no argument. ‘Not even call for an ambulance.'
You just couldn't leave well alone, could you, Scarlet?

‘Well, the best of us panic in a situation like that.'

‘That's extremely understanding of you, but—'

‘Yes, it is nice of me, isn't it? My assistant is worried I'll make you cry.'

‘But,' she added, sending him a glare of simmering dislike, ‘I
didn't
panic!' Scarlet announced, her chin lifting.
‘Cry…?'
she added as his last comment sank in. ‘I'm not going to cry!' she said, sounding insulted by the suggestion.

‘I'm extremely relieved to hear it.' His dark head tilted a little to one side as he examined her flushed, indignant face. ‘So you think you made the right call, then, and you're prepared to defend your action, or rather lack of it?'

‘Of course I didn't make the right call,' she surprised him by conceding with a grimace.

‘But,' she added quickly, ‘that wasn't because I panicked, it was because I took notice of—' She stopped abruptly, not wanting him to run away with the idea she was trying to pass the blame to someone else. ‘Is this an official complaint? Because if it is I don't think you should be talking to me.'

‘It isn't a complaint, official or otherwise, unless you particularly want it to be.'

Scarlet's jaw tightened at the blatant sarcasm in his voice. ‘Then you came to apologise for being so rude to me?' she suggested innocently.

The hooded lids lowered in a lazy fashion but there was nothing remotely lazy about the spark in his eyes.
‘Pushing it.'

Scarlet conceded this lightest of warning with a shrug and rubbed the goose-bumps that had broken out over her forearms. When his voice dropped to a husky murmur that way it had an almost tactile quality.

She had the distinct impression that he wouldn't have minded it if she had ignored him. Roman O'Hagan was coming across as a man who enjoyed a fight and enjoyed winning even more. She could see why he didn't lose often, his dark eyes contained a gleam in them that suggested he had the intelligence to match his stunning looks.

The idea of pulverising him verbally was still an awfully attractive one, if deeply unrealistic.

‘You made quite an impression on my mother…you and your little daughter…?' As this was just a matter of going through the motions there didn't seem to be any need to be overly subtle about introducing the child into the conversation, Roman thought.

‘Son.'

‘Right,' he drawled.

He couldn't have sounded less interested. It wouldn't take much effort to make it a little less obvious he was here under sufferance, Scarlet thought, pursing her lips indignantly. ‘Sam,' she supplied.

Roman watched her face soften unconsciously as she said the kid's name and thought,
She isn't actually that bad-looking.
His long lashes lowered, half concealing his eyes as he considered her small heart-shaped face—good skin, nice hair; it was a shame about the glasses, and of course the bizarre sense of style.

But he wasn't here to organise a make-over, he reminded himself. He was here to convince his mother she didn't have any grandchildren running around the country.

‘My mother was concerned her collapse might have alarmed…Sam.'

‘He didn't take it personally.' Her attempt at levity didn't evoke any response. God, this was heavy going. He had two modes; silent and nastily sarcastic. Clearly scintillating conversational skills were not part of his attraction! But then she already knew that his attraction was much more basic.

Her bland smile became strained as she ran her tongue across her dry lips and swallowed to relieve the nervous occlusion tightening her throat. ‘Tell her he's fine.'
Oh, God, please let this be over soon.

Her hazel eyes flickered to her wrist-watch. Ten minutes to lunch time, one of the busiest times of the day in the nursery. She shifted her weight restively from one leg to the other and repressed a sigh as she lifted her head.

She flushed lightly as Roman O'Hagan angled his sable brows expressively.

‘Sorry, I should be somewhere else,' she explained, trying hard to make it sound as if this were something she was sorry about.

‘Am I boring you?' Women didn't make a habit of looking at their watches when they were in his company. ‘Or should I have made an appointment?'

The sardonic note in his rich velvet voice brought the colour rushing back to her cheeks.

‘Well, if I'd had a little warning I could have told you that today isn't very convenient,' Scarlet agreed bluntly. ‘I realise,' she added, ‘that my time isn't as valuable as yours…' It was the total shock she saw momentarily flicker in his eyes that halted the flow of indiscreet observations.

What's wrong with me? I told David I'd be nice to him. It's not like it requires any great skill, just an ability to keep my mouth shut.
Getting herself out of this one was going to require some quick thinking, or talking at least.

‘Which, of course, it isn't. I'm sure an hour of your time would cost me loads, whereas I only get paid…but I don't suppose you get paid by the hour. And I don't want an hour of it or even five minutes, though it's obviously been an enormous thrill to meet you.' Was that obsequious enough? She lifted a weary hand to her head.
Oh, God…! Do I sound as much of a blithering idiot as I feel?

‘I'm delighted you're thrilled.'

I might die of humiliation,
she decided, listening to the amusement in his deep voice.

‘And I'm sorry if this is inconvenient,' he continued, ‘but the vice-chancellor said there would be no problem.'

‘Well, he would, wouldn't he? You're influential and rich and…' Her scornful observation faded as their glances meshed once again. ‘That is, you're…
sorry
.' She managed to force her lips into a stiff smile. ‘That was rude.'

‘Yes, it was.' It was hard to tell from his languid agreement if he was annoyed or amused.

David will kill me.
She exhaled noisily and ran her hands, palm-flat, over her face in a brisk scrubbing motion.

‘I get the impression you're having a bad day?'

‘What makes you say that?' she asked gloomily.

A laugh was drawn from his beautifully tanned throat. Scarlet lifted her face, startled by the deeply attractive sound. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing very white in his dark face. She blinked—for a moment he had reminded her of Sam; the fleeting similarity made her almost feel disposed to think he might not be quite the monster she had imagined.

‘Well, if you carry on like this on a regular basis I can't imagine they'd carry on paying you that
enormous
salary you spoke of.'

She let her hands fall away and shook her head. ‘I earn every penny I make. Especially today.'

‘What's happened to make this a bad day?'

‘
You
…well, not just you,' she added with a self-condemnatory grimace. ‘And I don't mean you personally, it's just I didn't like leaving the staff to struggle. I've been putting in lots of extra hours this week to cover for sickness.'

‘And what happens if you get sick?'

‘Oh, I never get sick.'

Her solemn conviction struck him as funny. She must have picked up on his amusement because she added defensively. ‘I can't remember the last time I was ill.'

‘Aren't you afraid of tempting fate?'

Scarlet suspected he was making fun of her. ‘I'm not superstitious,' she told him her expression contemptuous.

‘You've never pinched spilt salt over your shoulder, or counted magpies in a field, or crossed your fingers for luck?'

She shook her head. ‘Of course not. Don't you believe me?'

‘I think everyone's superstitious deep down; it's human nature.'

This point of view amazed her. ‘
You're
superstitious?' she asked incredulously.

‘My father's Irish, my mother's Italian—the odds were stacked.' His broad shoulders lifted. ‘What choice do I have?'

‘Well, I'm not superstitious, but I am really glad that your mother is better.'

‘But you've somewhere else you need to be,' he completed smoothly.

It would be overstating it to call the glint in his eyes annoyance,
but
…! She probably was making the fact she couldn't stick being in his company a bit obvious.

‘That's very understanding of you, Mr O'Hagan.'

‘Perhaps we could continue our discussion over lunch?'

Scarlet heard his voice through a faint buzz in her ears as she tried to contemplate what he'd just said.

‘Lunch…?' she parroted vaguely.

Best to look on this as a reflex—her hormones had gone into primitive autopilot mode and were acting independently of her brain. Hence the weakness in her legs, the warm heat thrumming through her body and the painful spasms knotting her stomach. He was an attractive man, end of story, no need to complicate it further.

‘Bring your son, by all means.'

‘Discussion?'
There seemed to be a time delay in her ability to translate what he was saying. ‘We weren't having a discussion.' Her straight brows arranged themselves in an interrogative line.
‘Lunch!'

There's no such thing as a free lunch!

‘Good God, no!'

His eyes widened fractionally, but other than that nothing in his manner revealed his reaction to her response. It wasn't that he was conceited, but a lifetime of being pursued and flattered by women had left Roman ill prepared to have an invitation of lunch rejected in an attitude of blatant revulsion.

‘Well, I know where to come if I need my ego deflated.'

Belatedly Scarlet recalled her promise to David. She tried to soften her blunt reply.

‘That is…it's very kind of you to offer,' she added, even though every instinct told her this was not a man predisposed to be kind.

She just stopped herself lifting her hand, which would have drawn attention to her face, which felt as though it were on fire. This was a man who never did anything without a reason. Which left the question, why had he asked her to lunch? Did he have some elaborate punishment in mind because she had answered back to him on the phone?

‘Like I said the flu epidemic has left us very short-staffed today.'

‘But otherwise you'd have been delighted to come?'

In face of this sardonic observation it took all of Scarlet's will-power to conceal her feelings behind a blank expression.

What were her feelings? In one word—shallow; this was biology at its most basic. She knew what lust felt like, and never had it been less welcome or so extreme, but when you came right down to it she really shouldn't have been letting it get to her this way. There was absolutely no need to stress; it wasn't as if she'd never felt sexual attraction before. She knew about the tightening in her stomach and the rest; it was a biological response—like sneezing.

She took a deep breath and was conscious of the fabric of her borrowed top chafing against her erect nipples; lower, the tell-tale liquid heat was even more of a give-away.
Sneezing?
Maybe not the best analogy.

She saw a smile touch his sensual lips. To her horrified eyes it held a knowing quality that suggested she wasn't hiding anything from him; she felt a flare of anger—her condition was entirely his doing.

‘If you'll excuse me, I have to go,' she told him abruptly.

‘Rain check?'

She looked at him blankly. If he thought she was strange and peculiar, that was fine, because she was. Being attracted, even in a blind, mindless way, to a man like this could quite safely be categorised as peculiar…also wantonly stupid and brainless!

‘Fine, whatever…' she mumbled, before virtually throwing herself through the door in her haste to remove herself from the room.

 

She literally bumped into David about thirty seconds after she had emerged from his office. She suspected he had been lurking there waiting for her to appear.

‘Steady, you're in a hurry,' he said, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. ‘You came around that corner like you had the hounds of hell on your heels.'

After what she had just endured the hounds of hell would be child's play.

‘The girls will be missing me. I promised I'd be back to help with the lunches.'