Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother. Элли Блейк
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night?’ he demanded.
‘Very much, thank you.’
‘I didn’t see you leave.’
‘I slipped away. You looked like you had your hands full.’
‘You should have stayed. There were a few people you could have met. We went out for dinner afterwards—you could have come.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Gianluca—but I had some paperwork I needed to do.’
Gianluca’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being described as sweet! Sweet was for those men who had manicures and were in touch with their feelings. He thought, not for the first time, how you would never know what was going on her in head—not from that unruffled face she always presented. Was she deliberately mysterious, he wondered, or was that simply a mask she wore for work? And what happened when the mask was removed? ‘And business is good?’ he enquired softly.
Should she tell him that business was booming? That his name had brought in a whole stack of new contracts? ‘Oh, I can’t complain. I have plenty to keep me busy,’ she said softly, automatically tugging at the dark hem of her neatly tailored skirt, so that it covered the inch of knee it had been revealing.
Gianluca watched the unnecessary movement. The skirt was hardly indecent—didn’t she realise that a man liked to look at a woman’s legs? She was always like the schoolmarm, he thought impatiently. Even last night she had been wearing some stiff-looking gown—appropriate and yet glaringly dull.
Gianluca had never met a woman like Aisling Armstrong before. Was that why he found her strangely fascinating?
Women rarely intrigued him; their reaction to him was predictable. They wanted him. They wanted his wealth and his lips and his lean, hard body. They wanted a shiny gold band on their finger and they wanted his babies. When Gianluca was around, they pulled out all the stops to make him aware of them, with their tight skirts and their lowcut tops and hair tumbling down over bare shoulders while their lips pouted in provocative invitation. But not this one, it seemed.
‘And that is what pleases you?’ he mused, meeting her brisk reply with a lazy question in his eyes. ‘Mmm? To keep busy all the time? How is it you say—like the hamster on the wheel?’
She wondered if he realised the effect he was having on her—how being in the crossfire of that stare was making her feel as weak as a hamster! Aisling gave him a tight smile. ‘It’s a question of necessity, Gianluca. I’m sure you know more than anyone that success doesn’t come without a price-tag of hard work.’
‘Ah, but the trick is in recognising when to take time off, surely?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me, when did you last take some time off?’
‘I don’t really think that’s—’
‘When?’ he persisted.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember? Then it has been too long.’ Gianluca turned his head to glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows which filled one end of the large, contemporary office at the top of the magnificent building which was situated right in the heart of the Rome. ‘It is such a beautiful day,’ he mused, and waved his hand with careless pride. ‘See how magnificent the city looks when she is bathed in sunshine. Alive and carefree—like a young girl in love.’
Aisling’s expression didn’t change. ‘Yes. I suppose that’s one way of describing it.’
Black brows were elevated. ‘You are planning to stay on, perhaps?’
‘No. Just until tomorrow. We’re flying out first thing.’ She wished he would stop looking at her that way—as if she were a specimen in a laboratory that he was just about to dissect.
‘Really? That’s a pity.’ He ran a thoughtful finger over the hard line of his jaw, which already held just a trace of new growth, and stared at her pale face and her set features with something approaching frustration. ‘Doesn’t Italy tempt you, Aisling?’ he demanded. ‘Doesn’t the successful conclusion of a lucrative contract make you want to take a holiday once in a while—to throw caution to the winds and to drink in the beauty of this country? To celebrate.’
‘But I have a business to run. Other clients like you, Gianluca—who’ll be wanting my attention.’
‘Surely none quite like me, cara?’ he mocked.
To her mortification, his teasing made her composure slip and Aisling felt the hint of colour creep into her cheeks. Some rebel part of her wanted to stand up and say: There, you’ve made me blush like a schoolgirl—are you satisfied now? Except she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to cope with his answer.
‘No,’ she agreed, deadpan. ‘Perhaps none quite like you.’
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he saw the brief rosepink tinge to her cheeks but he made no comment on it. So she could react to a little flirting. Maybe the uptight Aisling Armstrong wasn’t simply the robotic, efficient working machine she appeared to be. ‘I can’t decide whether or not that’s a compliment.’
‘Can’t you? Well, I know how much you enjoy problemsolving, Gianluca—so I’ll leave you to work it out for yourself.’
Gianluca’s responding smile was glittering. Ah, sì, she was clever—it was why he had employed her in the first place and why her business was doing so well. But wasn’t she aware that her frosty attitude was challenging, and that a man with success exuding from every pore of his being found the idea of such a challenge irresistible?
Didn’t she realise that if a woman put a wall up, then a man would just want to tear it down with his bare hands? Did he want to do that? He felt the beat of desire as he pushed a plate of tiny amaretti di saronno biscuits towards her, but she shook her head. ‘What are you doing later?’ he asked.
Warning bells rang loud in her ears and, coffee-cup in hand, Aisling stilled. ‘Later?’
‘Yes, later,’ he echoed sardonically. ‘Tonight. When you’ve finished working,’ he added sarcastically.
‘I thought I’d take Jason out for dinner.’
Jason? For a moment, he frowned—until he remembered the gangling male assistant she had brought with her, and made a dismissive little gesture with his hand. ‘Why not come to a party with me instead?’
Aisling frowned. ‘But we went to a party last night.’
Her obvious disquiet might have amused him for novelty value alone, if the accompanying look of horror on her face hadn’t been so insulting! ‘That was work,’ he murmured. ‘Tonight is not. Tonight is for us to be—carefree … to let your hair down a little.’ His glance strayed to the severe hairstyle. ‘Literally, perhaps?’
It was an unexpected invitation and for one unscheduled moment Aisling allowed herself the briefest glimpse of a romantic fantasy of imagining just where he might take her and all the delicious possibilities of where such an evening could lead.
Until reality intruded like a cold shower and she put the delicate coffee-cup down with a clatter. ‘I can’t,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘This is Jason’s first foreign job and I can’t leave him on his own.’
‘But Jason is a big boy now, cara.’ His voice became edged with sarcasm, black eyes narrowing like a cat’s. ‘You can’t carry on holding his hand for him for ever.’
‘I don’t leave my staff out on a limb in a strange city, particularly when they’re new,’ she said flatly.
‘Then bring him along. Come to my vineyard instead.’ His mouth relaxed into a hard smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. A smile which told her that he didn’t do persuasion. ‘It has been the best harvest in a decade and we’re going to celebrate.’
For a moment, Aisling couldn’t quite take in what he meant.