The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain. Margaret Mayo
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a few seconds all Penny could do was stare after him. She saw shoulders that were hunched and a stride that was not his usual determined one. She felt like hell. What a stupid, inconsiderate question to have asked. What must he be thinking?
She really had overstepped the mark and wouldn’t be surprised if he told her to pack her bags and go. And she didn’t want to do that. She must make amends. Hurrying after him, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have asked if—’
Abruptly he stopped and faced her. ‘And you didn’t think it would be wise to get your facts right before passing judgement?’ His tone was harsher than she had ever heard it, dark eyes unfathomable. A tall, proud man, incensed at the way he had been spoken to.
Penny guessed he was still grieving. It must have been fairly recent. Maybe that was why he worked such long hours, why he didn’t seem to be giving his daughter the love and attention that she needed. He wanted to blot everything out and the only way he could do it was to work himself into the ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, feeling her heart bounce in her chest, feeling a raw kind of pity for him. She wanted to hug him—how ridiculous was that? She wanted to tell him that time would heal. She knew how heartbroken she’d felt when her mother had died.
But he didn’t want to hear those words. He wanted someone responsible to look after Chloe. He had a business to run, he couldn’t look after her himself. He didn’t know how. He’d never had to do it. He was the breadwinner. The man of the house. The provider.
‘Forget it,’ he growled, and headed back to the house.
Penny didn’t follow this time. She waited a few minutes before retracing her steps and then ran swiftly up to her room.
She couldn’t help wondering what Santo’s wife had been like. There were no photographs anywhere, nothing to remind him of her. Was that deliberate? Was he the sort of man who couldn’t cope with death? Pretended it didn’t exist? So many questions with no answers.
When Penny got up the next morning, not surprisingly Santo had already gone to work. She’d not slept well with thoughts of the way she had upset him last night, and as she got Chloe ready for school she gave the girl an extra-big hug.
Chloe looked so much like her father, with jet-black hair and big brown eyes—which were sometimes sad. Penny knew that the little girl must be hurting deep down inside, bewildered as well, because how could you really explain to a child of her age that her mother would never be coming back?
It wasn’t for her to say anything, though. If Chloe wanted to talk, fair enough, but she had no intention of bringing up the subject.
After dropping Chloe off at school she did some shopping and visited her sister before going back to De Luca Manor—as she had privately named Santo’s house. It was hard to believe that one man lived in such a huge mansion. Why? Unless he entertained a lot, or had done when his wife was alive.
At the back of the house was a row of garages—she’d been allotted one for her tiny car—and Penny was surprised to see Santo’s sleek black Aston Martin already parked there. He was home! At this time of day? She glanced at her watch. It was scarcely lunch time.
‘Where have you been?’ he growled the second she entered the house. It looked as though he’d been waiting for her. His black hair was ruffled and she could imagine those long fingers running impatiently through it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, jutting her chin, resenting the inference that she should have been in when he arrived home. ‘I didn’t realise I had to keep you informed of my movements. Actually I’ve been to see my sister. You did say my free time was during the day.’
‘I thought I’d take you out to lunch.’
Penny couldn’t hide her shock. ‘Me? Why?’ A nanny lunch with her boss? It was unheard-of, especially with a man such as Santo.
‘Because we didn’t finish our conversation last night,’ he answered. ‘But if you’d rather not, then…’ He lifted his wide shoulders in a careless shrug.
‘I’m sorry about last night; I—’
Santo cut her short. ‘The subject’s closed. Go and get rid of your bags. We’re leaving in ten minutes.’
Meaning he didn’t want to talk about his loss. And she could hardly blame him. People dealt with their grief differently. Santo clearly wanted to shut his away.
Penny scurried to her room. It didn’t seem right lunching with him, but who was she to argue? She ran a comb through her hair but didn’t bother to change. She was already wearing a long brown skirt and a pretty peasant blouse, both fairly new purchases and perfectly suitable. All she did was change her sandals to a pair of high heels and with a touch of lip gloss and a splash of perfume she was ready.
Was her heart racing because she had rushed? Penny wondered as she ran lightly down the curved flight of stairs towards Santo, standing in the huge hallway. Or was it racing because she was about to dine with him?
The hall below was elegant and beautiful with a polished wooden floor and a centre table holding a bowl of sweet-smelling roses cut straight from the garden. There was a rocking chair in one corner and ornately framed mirrors on two of the walls.
But at this very moment she saw none of it; she saw only Santo’s unsmiling face. Unsmiling but indescribably handsome. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going out with him. In all her years of being a nanny nothing like this had ever happened.
On the other hand she had never worked for anyone like Santo before. This was a man apart. And because he was different her heart was hammering so hard that it felt painful against her ribcage.
When the agency had asked if she’d take this job she had said yes without any qualms. What they hadn’t told her was what Santo De Luca was like. They hadn’t said he was one of the richest men in the country. They hadn’t told her that he was gorgeous-looking. They had told her nothing. Maybe if they had she would have run a mile. Or she might have been so intrigued that she’d have taken the job anyway.
Santo watched Penny as she descended the stairs; he watched each step she took. He looked at the way she pointed her toes, he looked at her slender ankles, at the soft material of her skirt as it brushed against her thighs. His blood whistled through his veins. He watched the movement of her breasts beneath the flowered cotton top and his heart missed a couple of beats. Then he looked up and caught her eye.
She was smiling.
She looked as though she was happy to go out with him. Which both surprised and pleased him. Last night he had spoken harshly and regretted it immediately afterwards. She had caught him on the raw.
One day he might tell her that he and his wife had been divorced for almost four years, that any love he had ever felt for her had been killed long before then. And that Helena hadn’t even told him that he had a daughter! If he’d known he’d have helped out, he’d have got to know his daughter, he wouldn’t be in the helpless position he was in now.
His feelings when he’d discovered the truth were of sheer disbelief and outrage. He’d found it hard to accept that she had done such a thing to him. He’d never realised how much she had hated him. Even thinking about it, reliving that moment when he made his discovery, twisted his guts.
Thank goodness for Penny. Fiery and spirited without the least interest in him, which made a refreshing change. He was so used to women hanging on to his every word, fighting to make themselves noticed, trying to trick their way into his bed, that Penny was like a breath of fresh air.
No doubt she thought him an uncaring father, but the truth was he felt simply helpless. He didn’t know the first thing about bringing up children. He’d had no contact with kids since he had been one himself. They were a mystery to him.
‘Good,’ he said, ‘a woman who doesn’t take hours to get ready. I’m impressed.’
‘I haven’t changed,