The Italian's Baby of Passion: The Italian's Secret Baby / One-Night Baby / The Italian's Secret Child. Catherine Spencer
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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.
‘Shall I go out and come back in again?’ he offered.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she snapped. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’
Roman scrutinised her warm face thoughtfully for a moment before crossing the room.
Scarlet watched as he sat the ludicrously large teddy bear he was carrying in her chair behind the desk. She looked at it. It wasn’t the sort of item that you could miss, but her attention had been so focused on the man himself she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying anything until that moment.
She doubted if she would have noticed if he had arrived accompanied by a full male voice choir!
His burden disposed of, Roman looked at Scarlet once more. He ran a hand through his glossy thatch of sleek dark hair. The action, like everything he did, was rivetingly graceful.
‘Is this about our telephone conversation yesterday?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I seem to bother you.’
If he knew how much she would have died of sheer mortification. ‘I’m assuming you came here for a reason, Mr O’Hagan.’
‘Or can you simply not bear to be in the same room as me?’
‘I don’t want to be rude, Mr O’Hagan, but I’m really in a hurry. You were horrible,’ she admitted, despite her previous decision not to refer to the incident, ‘but no more than I expected from someone like you.’
‘Ouch…! But beyond threatening to sue you, have I done something to upset you?’ he wondered, a curious frown deepening the lines above the bridge of his masterful nose.
Other than undress me mentally? Not that she imagined for one moment that she had received any special treatment. Roman obviously had a very Latin attitude when it came to ogling women. Especially if they were wearing tight tee shirts and no bra!
‘Of course not.’ Even she was unconvinced by her tone. ‘Now, if you could tell me what I can do to help you? But I really do need to crack on.’
He ignored her interruption totally. ‘I didn’t really see how I could have offended you given we’ve not met before—though,’ he added, pausing to allow his eyes to traverse the slim, shapely length of her body, ‘maybe we have when you were wearing another disguise. I must say I prefer this one.’
She despised his slick patter and the fact it made her heartbeat accelerate.
‘Oh, that.’ She laughed uneasily, partly because his uninhibited scrutiny of her body was not something she was comfortable with. She was even less comfortable with her body’s response to that scrutiny. A shivery sensation slipped down her spine and she experienced a moment’s blinding panic.
Some people became withdrawn when they were nervous. Scarlet talked.
‘One of the children threw up all over me this morning—projectile.’ And he really wants to know this. ‘I usually keep some spare stuff here, but it’s always the way—the one time you need them they’re not here. The girls rallied around and lent me some clothes until mine could be cleaned. Though we do keep a box of spare clothes, for them, the children, obviously, just not for me.’ The hearty laugh she heard emerge from her lips sounded just as unbalanced as the babble that had preceded it.
Scarlet closed her eyes. If Roman O’Hagan hadn’t lost the will to live after that, she had. The room was filled with the sound of her own laboured breathing.
‘I would say that constitutes a bad day.’
The quiver of laughter she heard in his deep voice brought her head up. Hazel eyes shining with indignation through the lenses of her glasses, she glared at him. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘But not a tragedy either.’
‘Are you suggesting I can’t laugh at myself?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘Because, let me tell you, I have a great sense of humour…’ she met his wry eyes and added with a defensive sniff ‘…normally.’
She didn’t know why she was acting like this. She wasn’t a naturally aggressive person; her temper was even; she was one of life’s natural conciliators. There was just something about this man that brought out a latent combative streak in her nature.
‘Is there something I can do to help you…?’ she repeated.
He gestured towards the bear sitting in her chair. ‘I had left it in my car. My mother thought your son might like it.’
‘That’s very kind of her.’
‘Perhaps I could give it to him?’
She tried, but couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason to refuse this casual request. ‘He’s in the play room. I’ll show you the way,’ she offered, only partially managing to mask her extreme reluctance to do so.
Halfway through the door she backtracked and pulled her denim jacket off the hook behind the door. ‘It’s chilly,’ she told him, shrugging it on.
CHAPTER SIX
THE play room, normally a scene of organised chaos, was unusually peaceful when they entered. The younger children were sitting on the floor listening raptly to Angie tell a story.
Angie paused when they entered, her eyes widening a little when she identified the man beside Scarlet.
‘Children,’ she said, rising to her feet, ‘we have a visitor.’
Royalty could not have produced more awe in her voice, Scarlet thought cynically.
‘Roman O’Hagan.’ Roman, his smile all charm, extended his hand to Angie who accepted it with an eagerness that to Scarlet’s critical eye was too eager, fawning even, she concluded, viewing the older woman’s response to their visitor with a jaundiced eye.
‘Oh, I know who you are,’ Angie replied with a grin. ‘It was only yesterday we were looking at photos of you at that film première in Scarlet’s magazine.’
Thank you for that, Angie, now he thinks I’m a secret groupie. ‘Were we? I don’t remember.’
Roman angled her a speculative look and she glared back at him aggressively.
‘Sure you do, you put the magazine in your drawer, Scarlet.’
‘For the recipe section—I’m going to make the risotto.’ There was a layer of frost on Scarlet’s words, which Angie seemed totally oblivious to.
‘Isn’t that a bit ambitious for you? Scarlet can’t cook,’ she added in a confidential aside to Roman. ‘But she can eat for England and never put on an ounce. Me, I put on a pound if I so much as look at a grain of rice.’ She shook her head at the injustice of it.
‘There’s nothing wrong with womanly curves.’
‘That’s what my Bob says.’
Scarlet, who couldn’t believe that any woman could fall for such a corny line, stared at her friend—her old-enough-to-know-better friend—who was visibly preening.
Roman, head tilted to one side, considered the older woman, a smile playing about his fascinating mouth. ‘Is that a Donegal accent I’m hearing?’
Angie laughed. ‘Not many people here can tell the difference.’
Without