Pregnancy Of Passion. Lucy Monroe

in Italy most of her adult life and her father was Sicilian. One thing she’d come to realize: Italian guilt was a heavy burden, but Sicilian guilt was even heavier.

      And Salvatore had a lot to feel guilty about. More than he knew. More than she would willingly tell him.

      Did he want absolution?

      He shifted his six-foot-four-inch frame into a leaning position against one of the cases. “Your father sent me.”

      “Papa?” Her heart contracted. “Is something wrong?”

      Dark eyes probed hers and she wanted to close the lids, to protect her inmost thoughts from a man who saw too much while at the same time seeing far too little. He had seen her desire for him, but had not recognized the love. He had seen her reticence about becoming involved, but had been blind to the innocence that had spawned it.

      In the end, he had seen her pregnancy, but not his own imminent fatherhood in it.

      He sighed now, as if what he saw in her eyes bothered him. “Other than the fact you have not come home in over a year?”

      “Sicily is not my home.”

      “It is where your father lives.”

      “And his wife.”

      “Your sister also.”

      Yes, Annemarie lived with her parents still. Only three years younger than Elisa’s twenty-five years, Annemarie showed no signs of wanting to move out and make it on her own in the world. Shawna, Elisa’s mother, would be appalled, just as she had been by even the slightest inclination to cling shown by her own daughter.

      Elisa had been raised to be fiercely independent. Her sister had been cosseted in true Sicilian tradition. “Annemarie will probably live at home until she marries.”

      “This is not a bad thing.”

      Elisa shrugged. “To each her own.” She was pleased with her life in the small town outside of Rome. Her job allowed her to travel, at least when there were the funds to do so, and she had no one to dictate to her. No one at all.

      “The announcement buzzer did not go off when I entered the store.”

      Trust a security expert to notice. “It’s broken.”

      “It must be fixed.”

      “It will be.” After the auction.

      “You have not asked why your father asked me to come.”

      “I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. You implied there was nothing wrong with him.”

      “There is not. If you discount the fear he has for your safety.”

      Had her father told Salvatore about the crown jewels? She wouldn’t put it past him. Francesco Guiliano was a traditional man. Elisa was the result of his one ride on the wild side, an affair with film star Shawna Tyler. He’d wanted marriage when the pregnancy was discovered. Her mother had said no, and meant it. She hadn’t wanted a husband to tie her down and had never allowed having a daughter to do so either.

      “Why is Papa afraid for me?” She’d been living on her own for seven years.

      “He does not believe Signor di Adamo has sufficient security to take possession of something as valuable and controversial as the crown jewels of Mukar.”

      “That’s ridiculous. This is a jewelry store. Of course we can handle having possession of the jewels.”

      Salvatore moved an impatient hand. “They are worth ten times the entire stock in this place. There is more than one faction in Mukar that is unhappy with the dissolution of the monarchy and the sale of the jewels.”

      “Mukar needs the working capital. The former crown prince understands that and was willing to make whatever sacrifices were necessary to help his country survive.”

      “Nevertheless, you are at risk.” He sounded so solemn, as if he actually cared.

      She almost snorted. Right. Salvatore might feel guilty about the way he’d treated her, but he didn’t care about her and she’d be a fool to allow herself the luxury of that fantasy.

      “I’m perfectly fine.”

      “With a broken security buzzer?” He looked around the small jewelry store with a contemptuous eye. “The other security measures here are old and out of date. Even a second-rate thief would have no problem robbing Adamo Jewelers.”

      “That’s not going to happen. There hasn’t been a robbery at Adamo’s since before Signor di Adamo took over the store and he’s in his sixties.”

      “Sì. He is an old man. Too weak to protect you. And times change. You cannot live in ignorance of those changes, even here.” He swept his hand out in an arc, indicating the store, but even more so, the small town in which she lived.

      “I’m not ignorant!”

      He shook his head. “No, but you are dangerously naïve if you believe taking possession of something like the crown jewels of Mukar does not put you at risk.”

      “I’ll be extra-careful. Besides, we keep them locked in the vault.”

      He shook his head again, his expression grim. “That isn’t good enough.”

      “Whether it is, or it isn’t, is none of your business.”

      “Your father has made it my business.”

      “He had no right to do that. I run my own life.”

      She would have said more, but Signor di Adamo chose that moment to enter the store. He had his grandson, Nico, with him.

      “Ah, Signor di Vitale. It is a pleasure to see you again. And this time you visit when my assistant is in town.”

      “Signor di Adamo.” Salvatore turned and extended his hand in greeting, before doing likewise to Nico. “You are getting tall, Nico. Pretty soon you will be working with your grandfather in the store, no?”

      Nico beamed with obvious delight and Elisa had to wonder just how much of a friendship had developed between her employer and her ex-lover over the year she’d been avoiding Salvatore.

      “If I have a store.” The old man’s voice lowered with defeat, but then he smiled. “This little girl here, she’s given me new hope. Has she told you about the crown jewels?”

      “Her father did.”

      “It is a miracle she convinced the former crown prince to let us handle the auction, but she is smart and pretty enough to convince any red-blooded man of whatever her heart desires.” The old man winked at Salvatore. “Is that not so?”

      She could have told Signor di Adamo that she hadn’t been pretty or desirable enough to convince Salvatore to love her, but she didn’t. Because she no longer cared. She didn’t want his love. She didn’t want his second-hand concern either. She just wanted to be left alone.

      She didn’t get her wish. Salvatore stayed and discussed the shortcomings in Signor di Adamo’s security with the old man. He insisted on doing so in the store, frequently coming into close proximity to her. And every time it happened, the desires of her body betrayed the knowledge of her heart.

      It didn’t matter what she did to avoid him. She moved to one side of the store and began cleaning jewelry. He followed. The same happened when she went to a jeweler’s case on the other side to rearrange its contents. Always it appeared he had been about to move there too, but she felt stalked. Considering the primitive view he had of life, it wasn’t hard to imagine him as a predator and herself as the prey.

      In less than thirty minutes, her nerves were shot.

      Unable to stand the pressure any longer of being around a man she had once loved, who had not loved her and whom she now despised, she sought escape at her desk in the back room. She would work on the auction. Signor di Adamo could man the