The Italian's Secret Baby (5 page)

David's right hand remained on her shoulder. ‘How did it go?'

‘What…? Oh, with Mr O'Hagan? Fine, absolutely fine.'

David looked at her face and groaned. ‘Oh, God, you're such a terrible liar, you always were. What did you do?'

‘I didn't
do
anything.'

‘But you said something.'

Scarlet's expression grew defensive. ‘Of course I said something. I may not warm to womanising playboys—' annoyingly this was something that was hard to say without sounding, not only prejudiced, but distressingly intolerant ‘—but I'm not a total idiot.' Actually the jury was still out on that one.

‘Well, this particular womanising playboy finds time in his schedule to run a highly successful international company.' He looked into her stubborn face and sighed. ‘Would it hurt you to be nice to the man, Scarlet?'

‘How nice would that be? Will treating everything he says as a pearl of wisdom do, or did you want me to sleep with him?'

‘Do you have to be facetious, Scarlet?' David demanded, allowing his aggravation with her to surface.

‘It's easier than—'

‘Easier than what, Scarlet?'

Good question. ‘He's not an easy man.'

‘I found him perfectly affable, but, easy or not, Scarlet, he is funding a number of bursaries to help students from less-well-off backgrounds.'

The seconds ticked by while Scarlet stood staring at him with her mouth slightly ajar. Finally she gulped and took a deep breath.

‘You're kidding!' Her grin faded as no corresponding smile appeared on David's face. ‘Oh, God, I feel such a…'

‘Narrow-minded, judgemental?'

‘Amongst other things,' she admitted miserably.

David shook his head. ‘I don't know why you have a problem accepting the man is capable of acting altruistically?'

Scarlet did. It wasn't the man; it was the type of person he represented.

She had no problem seeing past an unattractive face, and she didn't judge anyone by their accent, their bank balance or the car they drove, but when it came to people who lived their lives being seen in the right places wearing the right clothes and with the right people she came over with terminal intolerance. She knew it and wasn't proud of it, but she couldn't help it.

Scarlet knew about people like that. Her sister had been a member of their very exclusive club, and how many of them had visited when Abby had been ill in hospital, losing her hair after intensive chemo? Abby's friends had had more important things to do, when she had contacted the names in her sister's address book and explained the situation and told them how much it would cheer her sister up to see a friendly face.

A few had made vague promises, but in the end not a single one of those
good friends
had turned up to show support, she recalled bitterly. When the going got tough, the Roman O'Hagans of this world disappeared in their fast cars.

‘I'm not kidding. This is not common knowledge,' David added, laying a warning finger to his lips and looking as though he was regretting sharing the confidential information with her. ‘Mr O'Hagan was most insistent on his name not being made public.' David gave a wry smile as he thought of all the name plaques he had unveiled in his career. ‘Which makes him unique in my experience,'

‘Really!' she exclaimed, unable to stop the bitchy retort. ‘I'd have thought he'd be used to it! Well, he's not exactly publicity shy, is he?' she added defensively. It seemed pretty perverse to Scarlet that someone who lived his life in the glare of publicity would be bothered about his altruism being made public. ‘Maybe it's a tax thing?'

She realised that, far from agreeing with her, David was looking annoyed, and added with as much conviction as she could muster, ‘Or maybe he's a very modest, generous man.'

S
CARLET
lowered the blinds over the glass partition and removed her borrowed finery before folding it neatly over the back of her chair. Standing there in just her white cotton pants, she shook out her own clean clothes. Creased, certainly, but a whole lot better than what she had been wearing.

If she had looked half decent would she have emerged from her encounter with Roman O'Hagan looking less of a loon?

Such speculation was pointless. Scarlet turned her thoughts firmly away from that traumatic and humiliating interview she had just endured—she never had been a big fan of post-mortems—and pulled her cream slim-cut pedal pushers over her bottom and slid the zip home over her narrow, some might say boyish, hips.

She took her tee shirt between her hands and attempted to stretch it this way and that without much success. A size six now, but it had survived the hot washing cycle in the industrial-sized machine a local firm had kindly donated to them better than her bra, which had come out looking like a dish rag.

She heard the knock on the door just as she was pulling her tee shirt over her head.

‘Come in, Angie,' she called out, her voice muffled. ‘I just wanted to ask if you'd mind covering for Barbara in the morning.'

Roman, preceded by his entrance card, a giant teddy bear, pushed the slightly ajar door fully open and walked in.

His experience of buying gifts for small children was limited, but he knew enough to know that the case of excellent claret he had put down for his godson on the occasion of his christening and the additions he had generously donated to the child's investment portfolio at Christmas and birthdays would not be suitable on this occasion. Wine and shares being inappropriate gifts he had sought the advice of his PA.

‘What sort of gift is appropriate for a child of three?'

‘Boy or girl?'

‘Boy.'

‘How much money do you want to spend?'

‘I don't want to be seen as throwing money at the problem.'

‘Right, but you do want to be seen as thoughtful; that's always more difficult.'

‘Do you like your job?'

Alice grinned. ‘All children like teddy bears, Roman,' she told him confidently. ‘Yeah, a teddy bear is a good bet. A big one.'

He had followed her advice with some misgivings. Alice's knowledge of fitness videos, football and chocolate was second to none, but she had never struck him as being particularly child-orientated, unless you counted his kid brother, Luca, but you never could tell with women. Some of the most unlikely ones, women who had publicly declared themselves wedded to their careers, one day started looking on you as potential father material.

He had learnt to read the signals. When he became a father he wanted it to be
his
decision.

Roman was perfectly aware of his responsibility to provide an heir and perpetuate the family name…as if the world didn't have enough O'Hagans in it. But just in case it slipped his mind, his father, who seemed to think his eldest son might well walk under a moving bus at any moment, obligingly reminded him of the fact at regular intervals.

He would get round to doing what his father wanted in his own time, but at the moment he didn't have a son, he'd never met this woman before today, and this was a pointless exercise. There were a hundred other things that he could and should be doing.

Despite these facts he was determined to see the farce through to the end, because he always completed tasks he began. But more importantly, this way, when his mother asked, as she would, he would be able to tell her with a clear conscience that he had seen mother and child and they were nothing to do with him.

Nothing less was going to satisfy her.

Also in the short space of time that had elapsed since Scarlet Smith had knocked back his lunch invitation, Roman had totally forgotten that, not only had he regretted issuing the invite the moment he'd made it—did he even know any restaurants where they served dribbling toddlers?—but he had also lost track of the crucial fact that he hadn't issued the spur-of-the-moment invitation out of any desire for her abrasive company, but because he couldn't think of an easier way of getting to see her son.

‘I'd be really grateful,' Scarlet said, still thinking she was talking to Angie. She grunted as she groped to insert her hand through the arm hole. ‘Hold on a mo, I think this thing has shrunk.'

She clicked her tongue in regret. The tee shirt had been produced at their last fundraising event and it was decorated with self-portraits produced by the older children, including Sam. Now it was shrunk it would be lovingly stored with the growing collection of childhood memorabilia she was accumulating.

‘It could have been worse, the machine totally shredded my bra,' she confided. ‘Not that I'm in any position to complain. This is one of those times being flat-chested pays off,' she huffed with a strangulated laugh as she inhaled deeply to allow the over-stretched fabric to cover and compress her small, pointed breasts.

Roman wasn't complaining either; he had no objections to ‘holding on a mo.' Beneath the enticing expanse of slender back he had an excellent opportunity to appreciate the curvy shape and firmness of a small but perfectly formed bottom complete with strategically placed dimple above her peachy left buttock. And he didn't think she was flat chested; his entrance into the room had been perfectly timed to coincide with the brief bare-breasted interval.

He'd been taken unawares; the sight of pink-tipped, delightfully bouncy breasts had frozen him to the spot and primitive urges oblivious to the social restraints of being a modern man had surged into painful life.

It was extraordinary but, far from being shapeless, Scarlet Smith had an enticing body, slim with supple, succulent and very sexy curves. The transformation was nothing short of mind-blowing.

That made it official. He did not have a son—no way would he have forgotten sleeping with Scarlet Smith!

Smoothing the slightly creased cotton fabric over her flat midriff, Scarlet turned around. The smile on her face faded as she saw who was standing there. ‘You!' she gasped accusingly.

For a horror-struck moment, she peered up at Roman before her brain got back into gear. She forced herself to release the breath painfully trapped in her chest, unfolded her arms, which she'd wrapped across her bosom in an instinctively protective gesture, and groped behind her on the desk for the glasses she'd set aside a few moments earlier.

‘Dio!
It's absolutely amazing.'

It took her several seconds for her slightly unsteady hands to locate her glasses from the table where she had put them. She slid them back onto her nose and his dark, fatally handsome face slipped into focus.

She was tempted to take them off again.

Roman frowned. Before she had replaced the glasses he had seen a red welt across the bridge of her nose, livid against the pallor of her skin. It was obviously caused by those stupid glasses. It was a crime to hide such beautiful eyes behind thick lenses. Didn't she know glasses were meant to be fashion accessories? That you could get paper-thin lenses and attractive frames these days.

‘Those spectacles are too big and heavy for your face,' he censured in a gruff, distracted voice.

Scarlet shook her head ruefully. ‘I know, but five years ago they were the height of fashion.' She gave a wry grin. ‘It was my funky period,' she explained drily. ‘I can't wait to put them back in the dark, dusty drawer they were hiding in,' she confessed.

‘Then why don't you?'

‘They won't let me wear my lenses until my corneal abrasion heals, and it hardly seemed worth forking out for a new pair.'

‘
Corneal abrasion!
You injured your eyes?'

‘The right one.' She lifted her hand towards her right eye, which showed no visible signs of the injury she spoke of. ‘A freak accident—amusing really. A baby hit me in the face with a rattle, would you believe?'

Most people thought it amusing when she explained the circumstances, but not Roman O'Hagan, it seemed. His lips thinned in disapproval and his nostrils flared.

‘This
amusing
accident could have cost you your eyesight.'

Her expression reflected her opinion of his bizarre pursuit of the subject. ‘Well, I wouldn't go
that
far…'

‘That much I can see.' The grim condemnatory note in his voice seemed a bit over the top to Scarlet. ‘I suppose you'd have an equally offhand attitude to walking across the road without looking? You only have one set of eyes; it's generally a good idea to look after them,' he reproached sternly.

To hear him talk you'd think I did it deliberately,
Scarlet thought.

‘I'm as fond of my eyes as the next person.'

‘I'm sure a great many people are fond of your eyes—they are beautiful. As is the rest of you.'

Beautiful eyes—? Beautiful rest of me?
Before Scarlet had time to properly assimilate this extraordinary information, she saw where his own hot eyes had come to rest, and her arms reassumed their protective position. She breathed deeply as her entire body was engulfed in a wave of mortified heat that to her mind was worryingly out of proportion with the situation.

If he had shown any inclination to say something more on the subject she doubted she would have heard it past the clamour of her hammering heartbeat. Only he didn't show any inclination to speak…he wasn't showing any inclination to do anything beyond look at her in a way that made her go literally weak at the knees.

‘Dear God,' she snapped. ‘Anyone would think you'd never seen a woman without her shirt on before!'

And from the way you're acting,
the voice in her head added snidely,
you'd think you'd never been looked at by a man before.

It was true, his smouldering stare was making Scarlet's erect nipples pinch hard and burn. It was deeply mortifying that she had no control whatsoever over what was happening to her.

Roman gave a cough of laughter as dark eyes returned to her face. ‘Sorry, I wasn't expecting to find you half dressed.' As he spoke his glance slid once more over her slender figure, and his chest lifted as a deep sigh vibrated through his lean, powerful frame.

‘My God,' he observed, shaking his head. ‘You look different…different in a good way, in case I didn't make myself clear.' Actually Roman doubted he had ever been less articulate in his life. ‘I didn't mean to embarrass you.'

‘Strange, I got the impression you were quite enjoying embarrassing me.'

One corner of his mouth lifted in appreciation of her comment. ‘Do you play chess?'

‘Pardon?'
she said, sure she must have misheard him.

‘Do you play chess?' he repeated.

Warily she nodded, still unsure of where this was going.

Roman's eyes narrowed. ‘You either win with style or lose dramatically—?'

This accurate assessment stunned her. ‘How could you know that?'

‘You're reckless, and you rely on inspiration. Playing an unpredictable partner is always exciting,' he observed. ‘Perhaps we could play some time…?'

Play with Roman O'Hagan?

Before she had time to respond to this proposal he added casually, ‘And if you're wondering what I saw when I walked in—I didn't see a thing.'

Scarlet was now ninety per cent sure he was lying, which was no comfort to her. If he managed to unsettle his business rivals with this sort of thoroughness, no wonder they talked about him in financial circles as though he were the second coming.

Her chin lifted to a bolshy angle. ‘I'm not the slightest bit embarrassed.'
Now that, Scarlet, is really going to convince him.

‘Why should you be? We're both adults…
consenting
adults.'

The throaty ‘consenting' sent a secret shiver down her spine. ‘I just wasn't expecting to see you standing there.' Despite her best efforts, she was unable to keep the accusatory note from her voice as she added, ‘You surprised me.'

Understatement.

If another man, say Jimmy from the post room had walked in and caught her in the middle of getting changed, if she had inadvertently discussed her bra with him she would not exactly have fallen apart. She would have seen the funny side of the situation.

Right now she didn't feel like laughing.

She watched as he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and released his breath in a soft sibilant hiss.

‘If it's any comfort I got a shock too.' Now was not the perfect occasion, but a man couldn't choose when he was going to be overwhelmed by lust.

‘I thought you were someone else…a colleague,' she added.