‘I’m amazed you can say all that to me with a straight face,’ she said. ‘You told me that it was never meant to be anything more than a one-night stand—so why would I foist on you the repercussions of that meeting? You were going to have a baby with a woman you despised. No...please.’ She lifted her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘Let me finish, because it’s important. I thought that a baby would be the last thing you wanted and so I didn’t tell you. I can see now that was wrong, but I was trying to be independent.’

‘Of course you were.’

She ignored the sardonic note which had hardened his voice. ‘I should have given you a choice about how much involvement you wanted instead of assuming that you wanted none.’

‘Or was that what you wanted, Justina?’ His voice was silky-soft now. ‘For me not to have any contact with our child?’

She looked into his eyes. Weren’t lies sometimes kinder than the truth? She knew it would be easier all round if she just denied it. Yet she also knew that they had passed the point of twisting the truth in order to spare each other’s feelings. ‘Of course it’s what I wanted,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want you back in my life in any way. You bring with you too many complications, Dante.’

Dante heard the cool determination in her voice and saw the candid gaze from her eyes. Her words hurt far more than he had expected them to, but her honesty was curiously refreshing. It told him exactly where he stood and it told him just what he needed to do. ‘I guess that pretty much concludes all we need to say on the subject of paternity,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should now do something inherently civilised—like going inside to drink some coffee.’

She nodded, shaken by the frankness of the exchange but pleased at the unexpected turnaround which the conversation had taken. ‘That sounds exactly what I need.’

As if on cue, Nico began to stir. Justina looked down at him, a fierce love swelling up in her heart as his long lashes fluttered open. ‘Hello, you,’ she said softly. ‘Are you hungry?’

They walked back to the house, where Justina fed and changed Nico, and soon afterwards Dante’s mother knocked on the door and asked if she might take the baby to show to the staff.

‘And, no, I don’t need you to help me!’ she said very firmly to her son.

There was a moment of silence once Signora D’Arezzo had gone. The two of them stood listening to the echoing sound of her retreating footsteps, and then Dante turned to Justina and lifted her fingertips to his lips.

‘Coffee?’ he questioned.

She shivered, all their disharmony dissolved by that first touch. ‘If you like.’

‘Or bed?’

She told herself that coffee was the safer option—so why was she nodding with that schoolgirl-shy smile and letting him lead her through to the bed, where the sheets were still rumpled from before? She bent to straighten them, but the drift of his fingertips over her bottom halted her.

‘Don’t,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s a waste of time.’

She turned to face him, and he pushed her down on the bed and began to kiss her.

Some of the tenderness of earlier had gone—had been replaced with an unmistakable urgency. He tugged off her clothes with impatient fingers, and somehow she managed to accomplish the same with his. Their bare bodies met in a warm collision of skin, and Justina felt the instant shock of familiarity and lust. He seemed so powerfully dark and dominant as he moved over her, his carved features rigid with restraint as she touched the hard, silken length of him.

‘Don’t,’ he groaned.

She drifted her fingertips upwards and downwards in a light and teasing motion. ‘Sure?’

Eyes glinting, he removed the offending hand, circling it with his fingers and holding it above her head so that she was effectively imprisoned beneath him. He looked so dark and dominant and powerful, she thought. And she was discovering that she liked that. She liked the feeling that this was beyond her control, that she was submitting to Dante’s will—because didn’t that stop her thinking too deeply about whether or not she should be doing it at all?

Her orgasm came swiftly, and afterwards she drifted in and out of sleep until the clock chimed seven and she forced herself to go and take a shower. The room was very quiet when she returned. Dante was already dressed and fastening a pair of pale gold cufflinks. He glanced up to find her watching him, and he smiled as his gaze took in the white towel which was wrapped around her.

‘I’m getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu,’ he drawled. ‘You do realise that you’ll have me in a permanent state of arousal if you insist on walking around looking like that?’

She could still feel his heated gaze on her as she went over to the dressing table and sat down. She took a wand of mascara and held it to her eye, but Dante had followed her. He was standing behind her and lifting the dark curtain of damp hair before leaning down to press his lips against the back of her exposed neck.

‘You smell delicious.’

‘It’s only soap.’

‘Then it is a very delicious soap.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Dante...’

‘Mmm?’

‘We...we don’t have a lot of time before dinner.’

‘I know we don’t, tesoro—but I want you to know that I’m crazy about you. That I want you very much and that we have a lot of making up to do.’ His hand splayed over her breast and she opened her eyes to see the erotic image of his dark fingers star-fished over the white towelling reflected back at her in the mirror.

‘Just go,’ she whispered.

‘I’m going—but all through dinner I shall be thinking about how much I am going to enjoy touching you later, just like this.’

She felt a wrench of longing as he moved away, leaving her to apply her make up with fingers which were now trembling and to slip into the new underwear she’d bought. All the time she was aware of him watching her. And somehow he could make her feel more self-conscious than she’d ever been on a stage in front of thousands of people. He made her feel...exposed. As if the tough skin she’d formed to protect herself could be stripped away by a single, searing slant of those dark eyes.

Her silk sheath dress was the colour of cappuccino, and she teamed it with a pair of towering nude-coloured shoes. She’d twisted her hair into an elaborate knot, and her only jewellery was a pair of dangling pearl and diamond earrings which sparkled and gleamed against her neck.

‘Who bought you those?’ he questioned suddenly.

She finished applying lip gloss and turned round as something in the tone of his voice brought a sudden tension into the room. ‘Do a woman’s jewels always have to be bought for her by somebody else?’

‘They usually are when they’re as expensive as those ones clearly are.’

There was a pause. ‘I bought them myself, if you must know.’

‘Of course you did.’ He gave a short laugh and his voice took on a hard note, as if he was remembering something. ‘The ever-independent Justina Perry.’

‘That’s me,’ she said lightly, but his words hurt—as she suspected they were meant to. Maybe this was a timely reminder that nothing between them had really changed. Before she started allowing herself to believe that it was safe to start loving him again she needed a reality check. Yes, they had the most amazing sex, but underneath he was still the same judgemental man.

‘And the jewels which I bought you? What happened to those?’

‘I tried to give them back to you.’

‘And I told you to keep them. Apart from the ring, of course—which, as you know, was a family heirloom.’ There was a pause. ‘So where are they now?’

Justina wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. Why couldn’t he just let it go? ‘I sold them.’

He frowned. ‘All of them?’

‘There’s no need to look at me like that, Dante. I gave the money to charity.’