Tara Pammi - Italian Mavericks - Carrying The Italian's Heir

‘But marriage?’ she protested, desperate to make him see how impossible such an idea was. All she’d wanted was for him to know, to be told to his face that he was going to be a father. It would have been what her father would have wanted her to do. ‘We don’t know anything about each other.’

‘I know where you like to be kissed and how very sexy you look when you are naked. I think that is a good enough start, no?’

He smiled a slow, seductive smile and her heart almost stopped beating as she remembered how he had kissed her, how she’d all but begged for more, not wanting him to stop, wanting only to lose herself in the oblivion of the passion he’d showed her.

‘Exactly the kind of answer I’d expect from a man like you.’ Her temper fired and she drew in a deep breath, challenging the charm he seemed so incredibly capable of even in such a situation.

His eyes darkened and his brows furrowed together. ‘A man like me?’ His accented words were filled with suspicion.

‘There must be some truth in that article in Celebrity Spy!’ She faltered as his eyes narrowed and she knew she’d touched a raw nerve. But hadn’t he charmed her, seduced her, all without them even exchanging names?

‘Do you normally believe everything inside such magazines?’

He moved fractionally closer and she resisted the urge to step back, to keep him from invading her space with the power of his masculinity.

‘No, of course not.’ She snapped the words out quickly, and judging from the smile which lingered on his lips he knew he too had hit the target.

‘I would also suggest you change your reading material to something more...how shall I say it?...salubrious.’

Thankfully he stepped away, and she let out a breath she had no idea she’d been holding, but the urge to justify herself was too great. ‘I don’t normally read it. I was flicking through it whilst waiting at an employment agency.’

‘Employment agency?’ He turned his attention back to her instantly, those incredibly sexy eyes full of mistrust.

She bit down hard, inwardly cursing her wayward tongue. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she was no longer employed because of their night together, but she’d walked into a trap of her own making.

‘I no longer have a permanent contract. The dinner party in London was a one-off.’

‘So,’ he said, and there was a hint of triumph in that one word. ‘You are without a job and pregnant?’

She looked at him warily and corrected him quickly. ‘Between jobs.’

‘And will you easily find another job as your pregnancy progresses? I think not, cara.’

The undeniable self-assurance in his voice irritated her more than she cared to admit—because he was right. Hadn’t that been her worry as she’d tossed and turned every night since discovering she was pregnant? Maybe if she was still living in Sydney, where she’d grown up, she’d be able to find a job. But she wasn’t in Sydney. She’d come to her mother’s city of birth, London, and she knew nobody. And, as much as she wanted to return to Australia, she needed to stay with her mother.

‘That is for me to worry about.’ And worrying was just what she would still be doing when she left here. She’d had such a strong bond with her dad that she couldn’t imagine bringing a baby into the world and it not knowing its father. It was her experience of a father-daughter relationship which had convinced her that seeing Dante was the right thing.

She hadn’t told her mother about the baby yet, afraid to disappoint her, afraid she’d use her father’s memory to make her feel guilty. Would he have been disappointed? No, she silently answered herself, but he would have wanted her to do the right thing.

The need to clear her conscience, to tell Dante personally, had fuelled hopes that he would at least acknowledge the child and hopefully want to be part of its life. But marriage? That was something she hadn’t considered. And even if she had that article in Celebrity Spy! would have smothered that dream completely. Dante Mancini was a charmer—a playboy with a ruthless disregard for any kind of commitment.

‘You will not have to worry about work now you are to be my wife. I will provide you with everything you and my child can possibly want—and more.’

He stood with his back to the amazing view of Rome, with the winter sunshine sliding in around him, making reading his expression difficult. But she had no doubt how fierce the darkness of his eyes was.

‘I do not want to marry you.’ She injected attitude into each word, desperate to push home her point.

‘It’s not negotiable, cara. I am in need of a wife and you are carrying my child—which makes you the perfect choice.’

He walked towards her, away from the sunshine which had temporarily concealed his expression, and the determination she saw on his handsome face made her heart sink. She had very little energy left to fight with.

‘In need of a wife?’ She stumbled over the word ‘wife’, hardly able to believe he wanted her to become his wife. How could a self-professed playboy—a man who had the wealth, power and looks to have any woman he wanted—want to marry her?

‘I am in negotiations for a business deal which I can only pull off if I am seen to be a man with family values. I need a wife—a woman I can be seen publicly with, and one who can be discreet. Because that untimely piece in Celebrity Spy! has made those negotiations somewhat difficult. What better way to prove I am a man of family honour than to stand by the woman who is carrying my child?’

‘You make it all sound like a business deal.’

‘That, cara, is precisely what it will be. You came for money and support and you will now get both—providing we are seen out in public as the perfect couple. The world must believe we are madly in love. In return you will have the honour of being the woman who tamed Dante Mancini.’

* * *

Dante looked at her, saw her face pale and watched her eyes close, provoking images of her beneath him as passion had driven her wild and he’d unwittingly claimed her as his. Now she would pay the price of acting the part of a seductress when she’d been nothing more than an innocent virgin. She’d pay the price with two words. I do.

When her eyes opened, seconds later, the spark of annoyance was back within their sea-green depths. With her shy blushes and understated clothes she certainly didn’t look or act like the kind of woman he would date, let alone fall for, but she had on that night in London. He might have scoffed at Benjamin Carter’s suggestion last night of using the discreet agency run by the American matchmaker Elizabeth Young to find him a suitable wife, but now he would definitely call upon the agency’s services. He needed to transform the Australian redhead who carried his child back into the woman he’d met in London.

‘Honour? You overrate yourself, signor. If it is to be a business deal and not a true marriage I will accept—with one condition.’

‘You do not make the conditions.’ This was not something he was used to. Women dictating to him. It was unheard of. He was always in control, always laying down the rules.

‘I will make all the conditions I want.’

Her flippant tone almost pushed him too far, reminding him just how much his head throbbed with alcohol-induced pain.

‘It is obvious that your need of a wife is far greater than my need to tell you that you are going to be a father.’

‘Molto bene. Name your terms.’ Angrily he crossed the room and sat behind his desk, leaning his arms on its clutter-free surface and fixing her with a warning glare.

‘The marriage will be in name only and it will be ended after an agreed time. Once you have duped the world into thinking you are a reformed character and have secured your business deal, I assume.’