The Sicilian's Mistress. Lynne Graham

he suggested smoothly.

      She was surprised to discover how hungry she was, and was grateful for the restraining presence of the waiter. Gianni embarked on an impersonal conversation. He questioned her about local businesses and the recent bankruptcies on the industrial estate. His razor-sharp intellect swiftly outran the depths of her economic knowledge. Where another man might have centred his interest on local history, or the sights to be seen, Gianni functioned on an entirely different level.

      Involuntarily, Faith was fascinated. In the midst of her nightmare, Gianni D’Angelo could behave as if nothing remotely abnormal was happening. It was intimidating proof of a very resourceful and clever male in absolute control of a difficult situation.

      When the waiter departed after serving them, Faith tensed up again. Gianni surveyed her with slumbrous dark golden eyes and her throat tightened, her heartbeat speeding up.

      ‘Now it’s time to talk about Connor,’ he told her with immovable cool.

      ‘Connor? How can we?’ Faith protested without hesitation. ‘As it is, I can hardly get my mind around the idea that you could be his father!’

      ‘Not could be, am,’ Gianni countered with level emphasis. ‘You had a test shortly before your disappearance for the child’s DNA. I am, without a single shadow of a doubt, Connor’s father.’

      Faith’s knife and fork fell from her loosening hold to rattle jarringly down on her plate. She stared back at him, appalled by that revealing admission. ‘You weren’t sure that…well, that… You mean you didn’t trust me…you suspected there might’ve been room for doubt?’ She struggled valiantly to frame that horribly humiliating question, and her strained voice shook.

      Gianni’s lean, dark devastating face was now as still as a woodland pool. He cursed his error in referring to the DNA tests to convince her that Connor was his son and murmured evenly, ‘I’m a very rich man. The DNA testing was a necessary precaution.’

      ‘A n-necessary precaution…?’ Faith stammered.

      ‘A legal safeguard,’ Gianni extended with a slight shift of one broad shoulder. ‘Once Connor was proven to be my child I could be sure that if anything happened to me his inheritance rights would not be easily contested.’

      Faith nodded uncertainly, thoroughly taken aback by the obvious fact that Gianni D’Angelo had already thought to make provision for her son in his will. She also registered that she herself had already moved on in terms of acceptance and expectation. Only three hours ago she had wanted Gianni to vanish, had denied any need to know what ties they might once have had. But now she badly needed to be reassured that they had had a stable relationship which would not have entailed DNA testing simply to confirm the paternity of her child.

      ‘You said I was trying to run away from all this,’ she reminded him tautly, her clear blue eyes pinned anxiously to his hard bronzed features. ‘At first, yes, I was. I was so shocked. But now I have a whole lot of questions I need to ask.’

      ‘About us,’ Gianni slotted in softly. ‘Unfortunately it would be a bad idea for me to unload too many facts on you right now.’

      Faith frowned in complete confusion. ‘Why?’

      His stunning eyes veiling, Gianni pushed away his plate and lounged back fluidly in his chair to study her. ‘I talked to a psychologist before I came down here.’

      ‘A psychologist?’ Disconcerted pink surged up beneath her skin at that admission. The embarrassed distaste with which her parents had regarded all such personnel had left its mark on her.

      ‘It was his view that wherever possible you should only be expected to deal with one thing at a time. That’s why we’re concentrating on Connor,’ Gianni explained, with the slow quiet diction of someone dealing with a child on the brink of a tantrum. ‘At this moment, that’s enough for you to handle.’

      ‘Let me get this straight,’ Faith muttered unevenly. ‘You are telling me that you are not prepared to—’

      ‘Muddy the water and confuse you with what is currently extraneous information,’ Gianni confirmed, watching her eyes darken and flare with incredulous anger.

      Abruptly thrusting back her chair, Faith rose to her feet. ‘Who the heck do you think you are to tell me that?’

      ‘Sit down and finish your meal,’ Gianni drawled.

      Faith trembled. ‘I have the right to know what role I played in your life. That is not extraneous information!’

      ‘I think it is. I want to talk about my son because I’ve waited three years to find him and now I would very much like to meet him.’ Gianni’s measured gaze challenged her.

      ‘You’re not meeting Connor until you tell me what I need to know!’ Faith’s head was starting to pound, not least because a temper she had never known she had was tightening its grip on her, no matter how hard she strove to contain it. ‘What was I to you? A one-night stand? A hooker?’ she slung furiously. ‘Or a girlfriend?’

      With pronounced cool, Gianni came upright to face her. Even in the overwrought state she was in, his striking grace of movement caught her eye as he stepped out from behind the table. ‘No to all of the above. Leave this for another day, cara,’ he advised very quietly, incisive dark-as-night eyes resting on the revealing clenching and unclenching of her hands. ‘When the time’s right, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

      ‘Stop treating me like I’m mentally unfit to deal with my own life!’ Faith launched back at him in furious condemnation. ‘I’ll ask you one more time before I walk out of here…what was I to you?’

      Gianni expelled his breath in a slow hiss. ‘You were my mistress.’

      Faith stared back at him, eyes widening and widening, soft mouth rounding but no sound emerging. The angry tension evaporated from her. Sheer shock stilled her, leaving her looking vulnerable and lost. Then she sealed her lips, forced her feet to turn her around and walked to the door. There she hesitated, wheeled back, and hurried across the room again to retrieve her handbag. Not once did she allow her attention to roam back in Gianni’s direction.

      ‘Are my car keys in here?’ she asked woodenly.

      ‘Yes. This is ridiculous,’ Gianni murmured drily.

      ‘How long was I…your mistress?’ Faith squeezed out that designation as if her mouth was a clothes-wringer.

      ‘Two years…’

      Faith flinched as though he had struck her a second body blow. Then, pushing up her chin and straightening her slight shoulders, she moved back to the door and paused there. ‘I hope you paid me well to prostitute myself,’ she breathed through painfully compressed lips.

      In the thunderous silence that greeted that stinging retaliation Faith turned her head. Gianni gazed back at her, not a muscle moving on his darkly handsome features. But for once she could read him like an open book. His golden eyes blazed his fury. Oddly soothed by that reaction, Faith stalked rigid-backed out of the suite and headed for the lift.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FAITH’S tenuous control crumpled and fell apart the instant she reached the sanctuary of her car.

      Snatching in a gasping breath in an effort to calm herself, Faith stared blindly through the windscreen. His mistress! It made a horrible kind of sense. He was filthy rich. She wasn’t from the same world. So of course she hadn’t been his girlfriend, his equal, she reflected bitterly. Now she knew why he had been challenged to quantify their relationship. The commercial element had figured. For two years. Two years, an agonised inner voice screeched in condemnation. It had taken her an inexcusably long time to wake up and see the error of her ways.

      For two years, two of her missing years, she had been a kept woman. In exchange for sex he had probably paid for the roof over her head, her clothing, all her bills. Faith shuddered, mortified by the self she had clearly