For a moment he almost laughed, her suggestion was so outrageous. ‘I am a twenty-first-century businessman, Flora,’ he offered dryly. ‘Do you really think I’m capable of trying to enforce such outdated ideas?’
‘How should I know what you’re capable of when you barge in here as if you own the place?’ she said, only now her voice had started wavering. ‘I don’t really know you at all.’
‘In that case, there are a great many things we need to address.’
‘Have your office type me out a list and I’ll get round to reading it sometime!’
More used to a red carpet being rolled out for him than dealing with a stubborn woman so obviously in thrall to her raging hormones, Vito refused to rise to a flippancy which was, annoyingly, more than a little appealing. Because not only was it a mistake to allow her feistiness to weave its strangely sensual spell—couldn’t he detect a deep fatigue which was underpinning her brittle air of defiance?
He remembered what she’d told him about her own family. She had never known her father, her mother was dead and her sister was in Australia. She might have friends, but what good were friends when the bills needed paying and the air was chilled? She was completely on her own.What choice did he have but to help her?‘You need to pack a bag.’
She looked at him blankly. ‘A bag?’
‘Just bring the basics with you,’ he continued coolly, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. ‘Everything else you need can easily be acquired later.’
‘You’re not making yourself clear,’ she said.
‘I cannot leave you here on your own.’
‘I’ve lived here for years,’ she told him, from between gritted teeth.
‘But you weren’t pregnant then,’ he reminded her acidly. ‘Does Amy know about your condition?’
At this she froze, a look of alarm shadowing her face. ‘No! I didn’t want to worry her and…’
‘And?’ he queried, thinking that she might do better if she stopped thinking about Amy all the time and started thinking about herself.
‘I thought you should be… I wanted you to be the first. To know,’ she concluded unsteadily.
This unexpected streak of consideration was oddly affecting and for a moment Vito was silent as a wave of compassion swept over him. ‘So who is going to look after you?’ he demanded. ‘Unless you are depending on the guy with the ponytail?’
‘I’m sure Joe would be happy to help with the shopping.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he would,’ he said, his voice silky soft.
‘Are you jealous of Joe, Vito?’
‘Why?’ He stared her down. ‘Should I be?’
‘No. He’s just a friend.’ He saw her cheeks grow pink. ‘Though that’s not really the point.’
He gave an impatient wave of his hand. ‘My mind is made up, Flora. You will have to return to Italy with me.’
A disbelieving pause spread out.
‘Really?’ she breathed. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Wh-what…what’s in it for you?’
Vito watched as a series of reactions flickered over her features. He saw shock, and surprise, and hope. Yes. There was definitely hope. And not only was hope a waste of time—it was one of the most difficult things to kill off. He’d seen it on the faces of women before. Too many to count. Ruthlessly he sought to make his intentions crystal-clear. ‘This is simply a temporary measure. I can’t promise you anything.’
‘I’m not asking you topromiseme anything!’ she flared furiously. ‘I’m not a small child waiting for Christmas!’
‘I have a home in Milan which is easily big enough to accommodate you for a month or two until the sickness has passed,’ he continued carefully.
‘What about my job?’
‘Do not concern yourself about that. I will arrange to have someone replace you while you’re away.’
Was it the suggestion that she was so easily replaceable which caused all the emotion to drain from her face, so that it resembled nothing more than a blank canvas?
