Riccardo's Secret Child (16 page)

‘I'll be around a lot,' Riccardo drawled. ‘Naturally, I shall still attend meetings during the day, but I plan on working a lot from here and also spending a lot of my evenings here as well. Getting to know Nicola better.' He looked down, slightly embarrassed by the patent shortcomings of this statement.

‘As well as making sure that I don't set a bad example,' Julia said shortly.

‘You can understand my feelings. I won't have you bringing strange men back to this house.'

Julia looked around her for a bit of heavenly assistance. How was she ever going to withstand the impact of this man on her if he intended to be around all the time, getting under her skin? And what gave him the right to keep an eye on her? It was an insult. He didn't trust her with Nicola and she could have told him that she had been doing a very good job of it and since Caroline and Martin were no longer around. She had been diligent, compassionate, understanding. Had choked back her own feelings of loss at the death of her brother, so as to maintain the semblance of strength
that Nicola had so desperately needed. Did he really think that a change of appearance was going to alter her personality?

It felt good for her anger to begin surfacing. Better than the stupid feeling of contentment that had treacherously slipped over her as she had sat marking exercise books, feeling his masculine presence wafting across to her, pushing her to do something really pathetic, like sidle over to him and curl up on his lap, let him take her against all reason.

‘I have no intention of bringing
strange men
back to this house!'

‘What about the stockbroker? He's hardly a lifelong friend of the family!'

‘There's nothing strange about Roger,' Julia retorted. ‘In fact, you're a thousand times stranger than he is!'

‘Ah, so another of your sissy men. Why bother? You will just go off him eventually when you discover how deeply boring he is.' Riccardo could hear the biting jealousy in his voice and flinched. ‘In the meanwhile, I forbid you to bring him here.'

‘You forbid?
You
forbid
me
to bring a friend back to this house?'

‘Not a friend, a
man
.' Every pore in his body was revolting against the irony of the stance he was now adopting. He, a man who had always professed to abhor possessiveness in people, who had always detested when any of his girlfriends had tried to pin him down. Here he was, doing his damnedest to pin this woman down as tightly as he could. She had admitted to using him, had waltzed into his life and exercised the sort of control no other woman had ever dared to. He should be removing himself as far from her as possible.

‘Are you jealous?' Julia asked hesitantly, and he banged his fist on the table.

‘Jealous? Me? I have never been jealous of anyone in my life!' He stood up and began prowling around the room, as if he could no longer contain the energy coursing through his veins. ‘Do I look like the type of man who is ever jealous?' he demanded, stopping in front of her. ‘Do I?'

‘Weren't you jealous of Martin?'

‘I was never jealous of your brother!' Riccardo snarled. ‘Furious, yes. He had stolen what was mine! But jealous, never.'

‘Stolen what was yours?'

‘Perhaps I used the wrong expression,' he rasped irritably as she raised her eyebrows in disbelief of the sentiment he had unwittingly expressed.

‘You must have loved her very much,' Julia said quietly. Just saying it aloud sent a stab of pain to her heart and it took all her strength not to wilt in the face of the big man towering over her, not to let him see how much it pained her to think of him loving another woman, hurting when she walked away from him, maybe even nursing that hurt through the years as woman after woman failed to live up to his original blonde.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because of your possessiveness towards her, because of the anger you still feel after all this time at the thought of Martin.'

‘I am Italian. She was my wife. Of course I was possessive. It would have been unnatural not to be. And I am angry with her and with your brother for concealing my own child from me, for taking that decision into their hands and playing God! As for loving Caroline, yes, of course I loved her. I married her! I happen to be a man who takes
the vows of marriage very seriously. I would never have proposed if I had not loved her. Or thought that I did.'

Julia's heart gave a little lurch at that qualifying remark and she feverishly reminded herself that even if he no longer loved his ex-wife, was no longer driven by the need to try and replace what he had lost by cultivating a line of girlfriends more or less in her mould, then it still meant nothing. Because he didn't love
her
.

She felt her eyes glaze over as she concentrated on trying to read what was scrawled on the paper in front of her.

‘Are you not going to ask me what I mean by that?'

‘I told you, I have to get these books marked before I pick up Nicola.' She carefully circled a grammatical error to prove to him that she was already focusing on something else.

‘I thought you prided yourself on liking New Man?' Riccardo said. He had never discussed his marriage or its collapse with anyone before. Not even with his family. His only response to them had been a curt withdrawal and a quelling observation that the past was another country, and, as such, beyond discussion. The few girlfriends who had expressed an interest had not even gotten that far. He had simply looked at them with a shuttered expression and changed the subject, leaving them in no doubt that his private life was forbidden territory.

It irked him now to think that he was willing to talk to Julia—in fact, driven to talk to her—about his marriage.

Julia looked up from what she was doing. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you've suddenly become a new man, Riccardo?' She couldn't stop herself from grinning at the incongruity of the image presented, of Riccardo, the epitome of everything potently and exclusively male, shedding tears, discussing feelings and tinkering with healthy-eating
recipe books. ‘Does this mean that you intend to share the cooking, the cleaning and the ironing with me?'

‘Ah, so I take it you are no longer going to fight me on my decision to move in here with you and Nicola.' He shot her a smile of barely concealed triumph. ‘Naturally, I shall share the cooking. As for the rest, I intend to employ someone to take over the irritating little chores of cleaning and ironing.'

‘Just as I expected,' Julia said feebly. ‘You've been here two minutes and already you're laying down laws.'

‘In fact, I could probably get someone in to do the cooking as well,' he announced. ‘I am sure Pierre would not object.'

‘Pierre?'

‘My chef.'

‘You have a chef?' Julia had the giddy feeling that she was being swept along by a series of rapid decisions and all she could do was cling to the coat tails of the conversation in a desperate attempt to hang on.

‘He cooks for me when I need him. Of course, I pay him handsomely for his efforts.'

‘Of course,' Julia said drily. ‘An interesting variation on the new man. Not so much cooking, cleaning and ironing, as hiring the appropriate staff. I'm not so sure that that approach will ever get you accepted at the new-man club.'

He grinned at her and she reluctantly grinned back, feeling the shaky ground shift under her feet as she was held captive by his lazy, pervasive charm.

‘But I have no intention of allowing you to lay down laws and regulations,' she said sternly, trying not to break into another grin as he did a poor show of looking chastened.

‘Just doing the best I can to help the household run smoothly. I don't want to be a nuisance.'

‘And don't put on that pious face. It doesn't work with me.'

‘No, of course not.' He lowered his eyes, exultant at his victory. Of course, he would have stayed even if she had packed his bags and thrown them out onto the drive. And from his advantageous position he would make sure that the stockbroker wimp didn't set foot under the roof. If Julia thought that she was going to try those new-found wings then she was sorely mistaken. He felt absolutely no shame or guilt in his intention to keep her movements firmly under check, and as his thought clarified he knew why. Because he still wanted her. She had backed away from him, she had taken the phone number of another man, but he still wanted her, and have her he would.

Like it or not, the woman pulsed in his veins like his own life blood. He felt a shadowy unease when he tried to figure out why, and shoved the thought to one side.

She's a challenge, he decided to himself, and challenges, in his eyes, were to be met. He wanted to feel her soft and yielding against him, wanted her to think of no other man but him, he wanted to dominate her thoughts and her dreams.

But to do so he would have to fit in with her. That in itself, he thought wryly, would be a challenge, taking into account his personality.

‘I shall prepare something for us to eat when you go to fetch Nicola,' he said magnanimously, and she threw him a sceptical look.

‘What?'

‘There is no need for you to look so dubious, Julia,' he said with a slow smile. ‘I spent my childhood surrounded by great cooks. Cooking is in my blood.'

‘And you have a way of transferring all this wonderful knowledge from your blood onto a plate, have you?'

‘Leave it to me. In fact, you stay here and carry on with your marking and I shall make inroads into a meal.' He strolled over to his computer and switched it off. E-mails would just have to wait until later.

How she had managed to finish doing any work at all, Julia thought later as she headed off to collect Nicola, was a miracle. Even though he was no longer in the room with her, just knowing that he was in the kitchen was enough to rattle her.

But she would not let him get to her, she decided firmly. She would maintain a detached and healthy distance. She certainly would not allow him to undermine her social life.

She thought of Roger and wondered what she would do if he called, because she had certainly no intention of calling him. Would she go on a date? The thought of doing that was not inviting, but she realised that giving in to the alternative of staying at home and falling into any kind of routine with Riccardo was just downright dangerous.

By the time she arrived back at the house she had explained to Nicola that her father had moved in, which had met with an excited, childish yelp. And as far as bonding went, she could see that his presence did have certain advantages. It would increase their familiarity with one another. She watched as he drew pictures with her and left him to have her shower sitting on the sofa with the cartoon channel switched on.

In no time at all, Riccardo and Nicola would have forged the necessary bond that would give them the strength to fly away together.

And then what? Julia thought as she slipped into a pair of faded jeans and one of her small white ribbed tops. He would vanish with his daughter, only keeping in touch occasionally so that Nicola and she could maintain links. He would no longer have any need to live under her roof, to
keep his eye on her, as he seemed to think necessary. She would have to set in motion some kind of life that could support her just to fill the inevitable gaping void he would leave behind.

She settled Nicola, who had worked herself up into a state of excitement as she contemplated the long list of thrilling activities that would now begin with Riccardo living under the same roof, and then walked slowly down to the kitchen.

She paused in the doorway for a few seconds to watch him unobserved as he stirred something in a frying pan and then lifted the lid on a saucepan.

‘Smells good,' Julia said, stepping into the kitchen, and he turned around to look at her. ‘What is it?' She could feel his presence drugging her.

‘An old Italian recipe handed down through the ages,' Riccardo drawled, his eyes covertly flicking over her, taking in the skimpy little top that left very little to the imagination while still managing to send it rocketing into fifth gear. ‘I used everything I could lay my hands on in the fridge and added a delicate mixture of herbs and spices. Sit.' He poured her a glass of white wine and Julia obediently sat at the kitchen table, trying not to over-relish the sheer pleasure of being waited on by him. How the hell did he manage to look so sexy in front of a cooker? He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, displaying his muscled forearms, and the slight sheen of perspiration on his face only added to his raw sex appeal. Her nerves began to jump and she hastily swallowed a mouthful of wine.

‘Nicola's very excited about your moving in,' she said as he ladled food into serving dishes and began bringing them to the table.

‘I like to think so. She asked if she could call me Dad. She told me that all her friends have dads and that she has
always dreamed of hers. Of me,' he said proudly, before resuming his clipped voice. ‘At least,' he huffed, to cover the uneven softening in his voice when he had spoken about his daughter, ‘one of you is.' He twirled spaghetti around a long fork and slid a generous helping onto her plate. Even that slight action delineated the muscles in his forearms. Relaxing was going to be a major feat in his presence. ‘Now dig in,' he commanded, waiting so that he could hear her verdict.

‘Very good.' Their eyes met and he smiled with satisfaction.

‘Did I not tell you that cooking is in my blood?'

‘I didn't know whether to believe you or not. You don't strike me as a very domesticated figure.'

‘Perhaps I never met the right woman who could domesticate me,' he drawled, his black eyes watching her steadily as he twirled some spaghetti around his fork.

‘Not even Caroline?' She had been itching to bring up the subject of his ex-wife and get him to explain his mysterious insinuation that he had only thought he had been in love with her.