The Italian's Wife. Lynne Graham

their curiosity. Rio Lombardi and Christabel Kent, the golden couple, had broken up. All his life he had been a private individual, who hated others to breach his reserve. Now he was a mass of raw emotion and seething bitterness and, to crown his intense sense of raging humiliation at being put in such a position, all he could think about was the wild, savage oblivion of sex!

      Holly shut up while the silence charged up. Rio opened eyes as bright as golden sunlight and dazzled her. The atmosphere was fraught, full of vibrations that skimmed along her nerve-endings, filling her with the strangest excitement in spite of her weary bewilderment. He was smouldering like a powder keg, she registered. She had no idea why but she had never been so aware of the potent magnetism of powerful masculinity.

      In fact, she finally admitted, she was so hopelessly attracted to Rio Lombardi she could barely think straight, and that was a major shock to her system and her knowledge of herself. Jeff had never made her tremble just by looking at her. Jeff had never made her crave his touch. So, doubtless her ex-boyfriend had had good reason to call her a ‘lousy lay’. That humiliating recollection from the past steadied her and cooled her as nothing else could have done and made her drop her eyes from Rio Lombardi’s lean, strong face in shame.

      ‘I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,’ Rio murmured curtly as he stood back for her to precede him out of the lift.

      She nodded with a bowed head.

      ‘Go to bed and rest,’ Rio advised harshly, stopping dead on the threshold of her bedroom but going not one step further. ‘I’ll have a supper tray sent up.’

      ‘I’m not hungry,’ Holly whispered shakily, no longer able to look at him. She listened to him walk away, feeling the loss of his vibrant energy and despising herself for that sensitised awareness.

      A bloke like Rio Lombardi would never look twice at her, which was just as well, she conceded dully. She was useless in bed. Frigid as a corpse. She stilled a shiver of revulsion at that unforgettable description of her less than adequate performance: Jeff had spelt out exactly why he had lost interest in her. She might not have enjoyed that single session of physical intimacy that had none-the-less resulted in Timmie’s conception, but Jeff had made it clear that he had enjoyed it even less. How could she have actually believed his drunken assertion that she was the girl he wanted to marry? That had just been a standard line to get her between the sheets.

      ‘Why the hell didn’t you get an abortion, you stupid cow?’ Jeff had railed at her before he’d hit her smack in the face with his fist. He’d knocked her right off her feet in his rage almost five months back and had terrified her with his violence. ‘If you think I’m forking out my hard-earned cash to keep you and your little bastard, you’d better think again! If you try to hang him round my neck, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born…’

      She was sorriest of all that she had been so unforgivably stupid as not to see through Jeff’s superficial charm to the user and abuser of women that he was. He had slept with those girls he’d dumped her for twice over. He had lied about that, and in her heart of hearts she had always suspected that truth but had blindly refused to face the fact that a man who treated her that way could have no caring feelings for her. Jeff was the kind of creep whose ego could not bear female rejection. The instant he had taken her virginity, he had begun losing interest.

      So she had got her punishment for being a silly, credulous doormat, dreaming of white dresses and the ‘Bridal March’. What she could not stand was that her parents, and now Timmie, seemed to be sharing that ongoing punishment with her. For of course her parents would be missing her, but she could never go home as long as she had her son and no ring on her finger. Farming communities were not liberal. An unwed daughter and fatherless grandchild would shame and mortify her parents.

      As Holly slumped down on the bed, slight shoulders sagging, Ezio appeared in the doorway, clutching Timmie. ‘I got his clothes out of the drier but I’m afraid you’ll have to change him.’

      ‘Thanks…’ she said chokily, getting up to reclaim her son.

      Ezio hovered on the threshold. ‘The boss is on a pretty short fuse at present. I did try to warn you.’

      She was just no good at listening. Her stubborn pride had offended Rio Lombardi. She had slighted the one person who had tried to be kind to her in countless months of indifference. A rich, good-looking guy of Rio’s calibre could not have any ulterior motive in helping her and she was ashamed of the reality that she wished that he had, ashamed that she reacted as she did around him.

      The phone ringing by the bed woke her the next morning.

      It was Rio. ‘I’m taking you shopping and I don’t want to hear any arguments. The sight of you running round dressed like a bag lady embarrasses me.’

      Holly was poleaxed. ‘But—’

      ‘I’ve hired a nanny to take care of Timmie. You got to sleep in because she’s already here. He’s now getting his morning constitutional in the garden. As soon as you’ve had breakfast, I want you downstairs.’

      Click went the phone as Rio cut the connection. Even as Holly replaced the receiver in sleepy, shell-shocked bewilderment, a manservant was knocking on the door and entering with the promised breakfast. A nanny had been hired just to take care of her Timmie? For goodness’ sake, had Rio Lombardi gone mad? She could not possibly allow him to buy her clothes! It was out of the question.

      However, hunger made her succumb first to the tempting dishes on the beautifully arranged bed tray. She explored the bruising at the base of her skull. The spot was still tender but she felt fine after a really good night of sleep. As soon as she had eaten she had a quick shower. Dressing in her clean jeans and shirt, she pulled on the man’s sweater that she had found at the very foot of the pretty-much useless bag of clothing which Ezio had brought to her.

      Her bronze ringlets fanning wildly round her narrow shoulders after a too vigorous and impatient brushing, she hurried down the stairs. Rio was pacing the hall floor and her first glimpse of him just took her breath away. His superb tailored suit in palest grey set off his exotic darkness and bronzed skin to perfection. His black hair gleamed in the light coming through the windows and was so temptingly touchable to her dilated gaze that her fingertips actually tingled.

      ‘I can’t let you take me shopping,’ she told him unevenly.

      A curious expression tensed Rio’s darkly handsome features and his strong jawline hardened, his gorgeous dark golden eyes almost bleak. ‘I need a distraction today. You’re it. You’ll be doing me a favour.’

      So disconcerted was Holly by the roughened sincerity patent in that unexpected response that she was halfway into the limo before she recalled that she had not yet seen her son. ‘Just two minutes, Rio.’ She said his name for the first time and then reddened with self-consciousness.