CAROL MARINELLI - In the Italian's Bed - Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘But you did!’ Emma could have sworn there was a belligerent tone to his voice, but he quickly checked it. ‘Here…’ He pulled out his wallet and thrust her some notes. ‘Thanks for organising them. I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Can I ask what it’s about?’

‘Not here, okay?’

Not here, where everyone might find out that you’re less than perfect, Emma thought savagely. But of course she didn’t say it, just gave him a nod and bit hard on her lip, close to tears all of a sudden as Jake walked off.

‘Jake.’ Zarios raised his eyebrows in greeting as Jake brushed past, he’d seen the exchange and Jake must know it. The polite thing to do would be to ignore it, but Zarios couldn’t be bothered with being polite. Shrug-ging off Cindy, he offered a friendly enquiry as Jake approached. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘All good!’ Jake grinned, but his cheeks were red, his eyes following Zarios’s gaze to his sister. ‘Just family stuff. You know…’

‘Not really,’ Zarios answered.

‘Just…’ Both men stood watching as Emma slipped the money into her purse. ‘Well, it’s difficult for Emma. You help out when you can, you know?’

Yes, Zarios knew—and he knew now he should leave well alone. But his curiosity was well and truly piqued, and when a coo of delighted glee swept around the party as waiters and waitresses walked through with silver trays laden with finger food Zarios found himself making his way back to Emma.

‘You’re looking worried.’

Emma forced a rapid smile. ‘I’ve no idea what my mother’s cooked up for tonight.’

‘Well, she’s surpassed herself.’

Knowing how important keeping up appearances was for her mother, Emma was relieved to hear it. Glancing at the tray a waitress offered, she expected the usual variation on a theme. But a real smile formed on her full lips as she realised that for the first time, where the politics of entertaining were concerned, had listened to her own heart.

‘Oh!’ Emma blinked at the tray laden with tiny little sandwiches. The bread as thin and as light as butterfly wings, yet it was crammed with the strangest of filling choices for such an important function.

Jam.

Vegemite.

Salami.

Prosciutto.

All beautifully presented, of course, but as she bit into them the familiar flavours brought a gurgle of laughter to Emma’s lips. She got the joke.

‘Your father and mine used to swap their school lunches.’ Zarios grinned, too. ‘I can remember my father telling me the first time he tasted your father’s sandwiches. He thought they were the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted—and your father thought the same of his. Within two weeks they were trading lunches.’

‘My dad insists he was the first Australian to really appreciate a sundried tomato—he was eating them daily long before they were popular.’

‘He was,’ Zarios agreed. ‘He was also a friend to my father when no one else was. He’s a good man.’

‘He is.’ Emma smiled. ‘Which is why you’ll have to excuse me. I ought to socialise…’

‘You are.’

‘I mean…’ Emma was flustered ‘…with aunts and things…’

‘I’m sure your father would rather you looked after a guest who doesn’t know anyone…’

How dangerous was that smile, just curving on the edge of his full mouth?

‘It’s not fair to leave me on my own.’

‘I’m sure Cindy would be delighted to keep you company!’ Ouch! Emma could have kicked herself for letting him know that she’d noticed.

‘Cindy only wants me for my body!’ He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. Cool and confident Emma was not. Her face burned at the near contact, her toes curling in her sandals at the feel of his breath on her ear. ‘And I will not let myself be used!’

‘As if.’ Emma laughed, jerking her head back, but the laugh came out too shrill. The effect of him so close was devastating.

‘Anyway, I am under strict instructions to behave tonight…’ Again he lowered his head—just as he had a moment ago, just as he had six years ago—and again her body demanded a kiss. ‘I think Cindy has an issue with her age…’ His Italian accent was thick, his words curious rather than mocking. ‘Which puts me off.’

‘Her age?’ Emma checked, struggling to sound normal as he pulled her ever closer into his personal space.

‘No, the fact that she has issues…’ Zarios smiled. ‘I am too much of a bastard to remember to be reassuring.’

God, he was gorgeous. Wicked and bad, but funny, too! Pulling her head back, holding out her glass for a waiter to top it up, Emma was sorely tempted to ask for the ice bucket to douse herself in.

He was thoroughly good company, and if his conversation was laced with innuendo, not once was he sleazy. And, Emma noticed with a shiver of nervous excitement, despite his arrogance it was with great skill and surprising kindness that he deflected the numerous attempts from women to garner his attention.

For tonight at least his sole focus was on her.

Her mother had excelled herself—and for Emma it really was a wonderful party. The mixture and the number of guests was perfect, the food delicious and the drinks plenty. Zarios continued to be good company, and had it not been for Jake, following her into the house and colliding with her as she came out of the toilet, it would have been perfect.

It wasn’t good news—but then it never was with Jake. As he led her to the study to talk , and as Emma listened to all he had to say, the sense of foreboding that had been her companion for a long time where Jake was concerned gave way to sheer incredulity at what he was asking of her. There was no way she could help him.

‘Jake, I don’t have that sort of money…’

‘You could get it, though!’

‘How?’ Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You’re talking about a six-figure sum.’

‘Your flat’s worth way more than you paid for it, Emma.’

‘Why would I pay off your debts…again?’ she couldn’t help but add. She’d helped him out in the past and had never been paid back. She had chosen not to pursue it, but this was a ridiculous amount Jake was now asking for. ‘Why would I take out yet another loan to help you?’

‘Because if I don’t get this sorted Beth will leave. Listen, Emma…’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘She hasn’t worked in years, she moans about money all the time, and yet she does nothing to help out…’

‘She’s got two-year-old twins!’ Emma pointed out angrily. ‘Surely that’s work enough?’

‘Emma.’ He dropped his voice so low she had to strain to catch it. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad—I don’t want to worry them—but we’re having problems with the twins…’ As Emma bit on her lip, he continued. ‘Behavioural problems. That’s one of the reasons we didn’t bring them tonight. Beth has no control—she can’t even manage to get them dressed before lunch. You don’t know what it’s like, living with her. She doesn’t lift a plate, she’s at home all day and I’m still having to pay for a cleaner…Emma, if you don’t help me and I lose the house, you can guarantee I’ll lose the twins, too. Can you imagine Mum and Dad…?’

‘You have to tell them, Jake,’ Emma pleaded. ‘You say it isn’t gambling this time?’

‘It isn’t!’ Jake promised. ‘Just a lousy call on the stockmarket. Emma, it would kill Mum and Dad. They’re so…’

‘Proud?’ Emma spat, because at this very moment she hated him—and hated, too, how easily her parents were fooled by him. Jake the golden boy. Jake the one with the real job. Jake who had given them the twins. Poor, responsible Jake, with his moody, depressed wife.