Her Husband's Christmas Bargain. Margaret Mayo

he know I’m here, though?’

      ‘Because he’s magic. He knows where all little girls and boys are,’ she answered.

      Luigi lifted his daughter down and as he did so his eyes met Megan’s, and whether it was the magic of the occasion or because she’d been thinking about their first Christmas together, Megan wasn’t sure, but she felt a volt of electricity arc through her. She turned swiftly away. It was a warning to be careful. She didn’t want to get involved with Luigi again, not at any price. Not unless he changed his lifestyle, and she couldn’t see that happening in a hundred years.

      It made her increasingly aware how dangerous it had been to come here. She ought to have stood her ground even if it had meant disappointing her daughter. Not that Luigi would have let her. He’d been fully determined to have his daughter for Christmas, with or without her mother.

      In fact it might have been safer to let Charlotte come on her own. No! She immediately negated that thought. She would have lost her. Luigi was adamant that he wanted his daughter—permanently. And she was equally as resolute that he would not.

      Luigi had felt a warm surge of pleasure as he held his daughter aloft. It was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. This was his child, his flesh and blood, something he had created. She was nothing short of a miracle. And he knew that he never wanted to let her go—unlike his handsome Italian father and fun-loving English mother who had never really wanted him, who preferred to go out partying instead of looking after their son.

      When he was eight he’d been taken from them and fostered out. Even then he’d been tossed from one family to another because he’d proved to be too much of a handful. He was full of anger and resentment over the treatment he’d received and several times he’d run away, never settling, never knowing what it was like to be truly loved.

      It had made him into the tough person he was today. It had made him decide that he was going to make something of his life. He was quick to learn and very intelligent and at sixteen he had left school and started his first job with an IT firm. In fact he’d had a few little money-earners going long before then.

      He’d helped school-friends with their homework and charged them. He had good computer skills and published a teenage magazine that was purchased by dozens of his friends both in school and out. He’d bought and sold all sorts of stuff, anything that would make him a profit. By the time he’d left school he’d amassed almost a thousand pounds. But he’d got his eyes set on a million before he was thirty, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He didn’t even know what he was worth these days.

      Money gave him security, something he’d never had, and he was hurt that Megan didn’t like his house. To him it was the pinnacle of all that he’d worked for.

      Charlotte was speaking now. ‘Do you think, Mummy, that ‘cos I asked Santa for a daddy and he’s given me one, he won’t leave me anything else?’

      ‘Of course he will, sweetheart,’ answered Megan, gathering the child into her arms and giving her a great big hug.

      Luigi felt an unbelievable sadness. He’d never experienced a mother’s arms around him like that. All he’d ever been to his mother was a nuisance, someone to be fed and clothed and told to keep out of the way, often left in the house for long periods alone.

      ‘I expect he’ll leave you lots,’ he said to his daughter now, and was hurt when Megan gave him a damning look. What did she expect, that he wouldn’t give his daughter anything? That he’d given her enough with the few things he’d put into her room? They were nothing, just a few toys to make her feel at home. Wait until tomorrow, she would be the happiest girl alive.

      And Megan too; he had no intention of leaving her out, even though she was making it very clear that she wasn’t pleased to see him. All that would change, he felt certain, when she realised how much better it would be for Charlotte to have a father as well as a mother.

      He couldn’t even begin to understand why Megan had kept their daughter a secret. If he hadn’t spotted her in Gerards he might never have known. Charlotte would have grown up and had children, his grandchildren, and he would have been none the wiser.

      The very thought sent a spurt of anger through him and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. Was Megan being truthful when she said that she’d left him because of the long hours he worked? Or had there been another man involved? Was there still someone else? The one he had seen coming and going from her house, for instance?

      Luigi’s lips compressed at the thought that there might be some other man in her life. And in his daughter’s life! This man could be the reason why Megan had been so adamant about wanting to spend as little time with him as possible. He needed to speak to her about it, about him, and soon.

      The opportunity presented itself as soon as Charlotte had been bathed and put to bed. He’d stood and watched, marvelling at the bond between mother and daughter. It was something he wanted, something he’d missed out on, and he vowed that whatever it took, however much he had to bribe or force, Megan and Charlotte would become a part of his life—for ever!

      At least they were still married, that should make things easier. He wondered why Megan had never got around to divorcing him. On his part it was because he’d never met anyone else he wanted to marry—though there’d been plenty of girls who wanted to marry him. But Megan, what was her story? Did she love the man she shared the house with? What sort of a guy was he that he was content to live with a woman who could never be his in the eyes of the law?

      ‘Asleep at last,’ said Megan as she left Charlotte’s bedroom and discovered Luigi still lurking. ‘She’s so excited. Sleeping in a strange house and wondering what Santa’s going to bring her is a lot for a little girl.’

      ‘And will it be a lot for her mother, sleeping in a strange house? A house she doesn’t particularly like?’ he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It had disappointed him that she hadn’t been as enthralled as he was. He had expected her to be impressed by how well he’d done. In fact he had hoped that it might prove a deciding factor in bringing them back together.

      ‘I don’t expect I’ll sleep very much,’ she admitted.

      ‘Are you excited about Christmas too?’

      ‘Not on your life,’ she retorted. ‘I wish I was anywhere but here.’

      Luigi felt as though she’d kicked him in the stomach, although, he supposed reluctantly, it had been a big step for Megan to take. She had been honest about why she’d run away and he’d virtually forced her here. Not that he regretted it.

      They would both grow to love it, he felt sure. All they needed was time. At least Megan did. Charlotte seemed happy enough, though he wasn’t sure whether she’d be so content if her mother didn’t stay. In fact he knew she wouldn’t. Which made it even more imperative that he persuade Megan to move in with him permanently.

      He would need to treat her with kid gloves, which might be difficult because he wasn’t used to holding back. And he’d need to show her what she and Charlotte would be missing if she went back to their cramped little house. She’d made it very homely but, given the choice between there and here, he couldn’t see there was a choice. This house would win hands down. And he would win too; he would make sure of that.

      Couldn’t Megan see that Charlotte would be far better off? Not only because of the space in the house, but the grounds as well. There was a copse, a tennis court, a swimming pool, a lake. It was a child’s dream. There were even stables, though he had no horses yet. But if Charlotte wanted a pony then it would be hers for the asking.

      ‘It’s too early for you to judge whether you’re going to be happy here,’ he said to Megan now. ‘When—’

      ‘It’s not altogether the house,’ she retorted sharply, ‘even though I think it’s too pretentious. It’s you! You’re obsessed with money.