CAROL MARINELLI - Hired - Mistress - Wanted - Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘But she said she had…’ Matilda swung around then snapped her mouth closed, furious with herself for responding.

‘Everyone has their secrets, remember.’ Dante shrugged then gave her the benefit of a very wicked smile. ‘Come,’ he offered again.

‘No,’ Matilda countered. This time she didn’t even bother to be polite, just turned her back on him and started to sort out her things, only letting out the breath she had been holding when, after the longest time, she heard the click of the gate closing. Alex didn’t just have her father’s eyes, Matilda realised, she had his personality, too. They shared the same dark, lonely existence, cruelly, capriciously striking out at anyone they assumed was getting too close, yet somehow drawing them in all the same, somehow managing to be forgiven.

A cold shower mightn’t be so bad, Matilda attempted to convince herself as she gingerly held her fingers under the jets. All day she’d been boiling, all day she’d longed to cool down—but the trouble with her line of work was that there was absolutely no chance of a quick dart in the shower. Her hair was stiff with dust, her fingers black from the soil, her skin almost as dark as Dante’s.

Biting down on her lip, Matilda dived into the shower, yelping as the icy water hit her. Forcing herself to put her head under, she frantically rubbed in shampoo, praying that in a moment she’d acclimatise, that the freezing water might actually merely be cool after a couple of minutes’ more torture. Only it wasn’t. Her misery lasted long after she’d turned the beastly taps off and wrapped a towel around her, her poorly rinsed hair causing a river of stinging of water to hit her eyes. Shivering and cursing like the navvy Katrina had hoped for, Matilda groped for the door handle, wrenching it open and storming head first into a wall of flesh.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ Dante demanded. ‘I could hear you screaming…’

Matilda stood in shook. ‘Are you spying on me?’ She felt embarrassed and enraged. Her bloodshot, stinging eyes focused on the walkie-talkie he was holding in his hand.

‘It’s a child monitor,’ he explained with infinite patience, as if she were some sort of mentally unhinged person he was talking down from the roof. But she could see the tiny twitch on his lips, knew that inside he was laughing at her, her misery, her embarrassment increasing as he carried on talking. ‘Janet left a note, telling me about the water. I just read it, so will you, please, collect your belongings so that I can help you bring your things over.’

‘There’s really no need for that,’ Matilda insisted, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable and also somewhat deflated that even standing before him, her body drenched, clearly naked under a towel, she didn’t move him at all. ‘I’ve got a plumber coming tomorrow…’

‘Matilda.’ He gave a weary sigh. ‘My daughter is asleep in the house alone so could you, please, just…?’ He faltered for just a fraction of a second, telling her in that fraction of time that she had been wrong—that Dante was very aware of her near-nakedness. She clutched the towel tighter around her, scuffed the floor with her dripping foot as immediately he continued. ‘Get dressed, Matilda,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll come back for your things later.’

Which really didn’t leave her much choice.

IT WAS a very shy, rather humble Matilda that joined Dante at the heavy wooden table that was the centrepiece of his impressive al fresco area, the beastly child monitor blinking at her on the table as she approached, her face darkening to purple as she realised she’d practically accused the man of stalking her. She braced herself for a few harsh words Dante-style but instead he poured an indecent amount of wine into her glass then pushed it across the table to her.

‘Is red OK?’

‘Marvellous,’ Matilda lied, taking a tentative sip, surprised to find that this particular red actually was OK, warming her from the inside out. Holding the massive glass in her pale hand, she stared at the dark liquid, anything rather than look at him, and started a touch when the intercom crackled loudly.

‘Static,’ Dante explained, pressing a button. ‘Someone down the road mowing their lawn or drying their hair. I just change the channel, see.’

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t have any experience with children, do you?’

‘None,’ Matilda answered. ‘I mean, none at all. Well apart from my friend, Sally…’

‘She has a baby?’

‘No.’ Matilda gave a pale smile. ‘But she’s thought that she might be pregnant a couple of times.’

He actually laughed, and it sounded glorious, a deep rich sound, his white teeth flashing. Matilda was amazed after her exquisite discomfort of only a moment ago to find herself actually laughing, too, her pleasure increasing as Dante gave a little bit more, actually revealed a piece of himself, only not with the impassive voice he had used before but with genuine warmth and emotion, his face softer somehow, his voice warmer as this inaccessible man let her in a touch, allowed her to glimpse another dimension to his complex nature.

‘Until Alex was born, apart from on television, I don’t think I’d ever seen a newborn.’ He frowned, as if examining that thought for the first time. ‘No, I’m sure I hadn’t. My mother was the youngest of seven children. All my cousins were older and I, too, was the youngest—very spoiled!’

‘I can imagine.’ Matilda rolled her eyes, but her smile remained as Dante continued.

‘Then this tiny person appeared and suddenly I am supposed to know.’ He spread his hands expressively, but words clearly failed him.

‘I’d be terrified,’ Matilda admitted.

‘I was,’ Dante stated. ‘Still am, most of the time.’

Her smile faded, seeing him now not as the man that moved her but as the single father he was, trying yet knowing she was failing to fathom the enormity of the task that had been so squarely placed on his shoulders.

‘It must be hard.’

‘It is.’ Dante nodded and didn’t sweeten it with the usual superlatives that generally followed such a statement, didn’t smile and eagerly nod that it was more than worth it, or the best thing he’d ever done in his life. He just stared back at her for the longest time, before continuing, ‘I have a big trial starting next week, but once that it is out of the way, I need to make a decision.’

‘Whether to move back to Italy?’

Dante nodded. ‘Every doctor I have consulted tells me that Alex needs a routine, that she needs a solid home base—at the moment I am having trouble providing that. Katrina is only too willing to help, but…’ He hesitated and took a long sip of his drink. Matilda held her breath, willing him to continue, to glean a little more insight into the problems he faced. ‘She wants to keep Jasmine alive, doesn’t want anything that might detract from her daughter’s memory, which is understandable, of course, only sometimes…’

‘It’s a bit much?’ Matilda tentatively offered, relieved when he didn’t frown back at her, relieved that maybe she understood just a little of what he was feeling.

‘Much too much,’ Dante agreed, then terminated the conversation, standing up and gesturing. ‘I will show you the guest room, it’s already made up—then we can eat.’

‘I might just grab a sandwich or something when I get my things,’ Matilda started, but Dante just ignored her, leading her through the house and upstairs, gesturing for her to be quiet as they tiptoed past Alex’s room, before coming to a large door at the end of the hallway.

Clearly Dante’s idea of a guest room differed from Matilda’s somewhat—her version was a spare room with a bed and possibly an ironing board for good measure. But Dante’s guests were clearly used to better. As he pushed open the door and she stepped inside, Matilda realised just how far she’d been relegated by Katrina. Till then the summerhouse had been more than OK, but it wasn’t a patch on this! A massive king-sized bed made up with crisp white linen was the focus point of the fabulously spacious room, but rather than being pushed against the wall and sensibly facing a door, as most of the population would have done, instead it stood proudly in the middle, staring directly out of one of the massive windows Matilda had till now only glimpsed from the outside, offering a panoramic view of the bay. Matilda thought she must have died and gone to heaven—ruing every last minute she’d spent struggling on in the summerhouse when she could have been here!