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Yet his actions all day had said otherwise.

Abruptly, she turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower, rubbing a towel over her damp body, and pulled on a flimsy nightdress, refusing to acknowledge the desire he elicited, refusing to allow her mind to go there.

‘Bed,’ she instructed herself, walking barefoot down the dark corridor, and then wondered if she was sleepwalking or dreaming of him, for Gabe was here and walking towards her.

Unlike the rest of the world at this hour, he was dressed, but his tie was loosened and he carried a drink, and she stilled, watching as he placed it down on a hall table.

‘I get it,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘I don’t like it, but I get it. People move on.’

She stood stock still, her body ripe and lush beneath her nightdress, curls wet and gleaming, her breasts rising with each breath, and this conversation could not wait for daylight.

‘I should be able to say it…’

She frowned at his words.

‘But if I did,’ Gabriel continued, ‘then I’d only be saying it to be polite.’ His eyes held hers so he didn’t look down at the practically see-through nightdress.

He’d seen the dark of her bush, her nipples, and hated his own weakness for wanting her still.

‘You should be able to say what?’ Stella asked.

‘Congratulations.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘Not.’

‘Gabe—’ she was truly bewildered ‘—I don’t understand.’ Did he know about Sophia—was this his way of telling her? ‘How did you…’

‘Because I know your body.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I wish to God that Sir Charles had sent someone else. Surely you could have made some damned excuse rather than taunt…’ His mouth snapped closed.

‘Taunt you?’

‘You’re pregnant.’ Still he refused to look down, to acknowledge the changes, but he didn’t need to, for they were already burnt into his brain.

‘Pregnant?’ She shook her head, utterly bemused. ‘No…’

‘Is he good to you?’

‘Gabe, you’ve got it wrong,’ she attempted and slowly, realisation dawned—he thought she was carrying another man’s child. ‘There’s been no one else.’ Even the thought made her wince, the impossibility of there being anyone else made her understand his earlier cold anger, because hell, she felt the same way about him.

Relief that there had been no one else stunned his brain. Those words such a damned relief that when she stepped forward he pulled her to him, reclaimed her mouth and kissed her.

Stella needed this kiss far more than she’d known.

Everything stilled except them.

Thoughts, problems, longing, all wiped away as she welcomed the roughness of his jaw and the probe of his tongue. Her hands lifted to hold his head as his own hands greedily roamed her body. They were panting, desperate, and Stella knew she had to slow things, there was a conversation to be had, except she was drowning in his arms as he kissed down her neck.

And then he paused for just a second, lifted his head, and then dismissed what he thought he had heard. Back to the softness of her neck as he reached for his zip, all thought gone.

Then he heard it again.

‘Is that a baby crying?’ Gabe asked.

He cocked his head slightly, and yes it definitely was. ‘What the hell?’

Certainly, he didn’t want the palazzo being used as a hotel by the actors and film crew. As well as that, the cries were growing louder.

‘Whose baby is that?’

Then he looked down and must’ve seen her startled or, rather, trapped-in-the-headlights expression.