A Deal To Carry The Italian's Heir / Christmas Contract For His Cinderella. Jane Porter

      “I just wanted to reiterate that—”

      “I have made a decision.”

      She swayed, her knees refusing to prop her up. He reached for her immediately, his long fingers grasping her elbow in a firm grip.

      “I’m fine,” she said, snatching back her arm. Forcing herself to breathe in long, deep gulps. “I’ll let you finish dressing.” She’d barged into his room and now she couldn’t wait to escape. If he said no...

      “I’d prefer to talk here,” he said, pushing off from the bed. “And I’ll put on the shirt if it makes you uncomfortable.”

      “Not uncomfortable, no. After all, it’s your bedroom. Just distracting,” she said in a half-snorting, high voice, panic letting her thoughts out in a rush.

      His laughter was delicious, sexy, rubbing against her skin, winding her up. Heat washed over every inch of her, the very idea of licking up that hard chest sending a rush of desire through her.

      “As you wish,” he said with a devilish smile, and reached for his white shirt.

      Neha watched, shameless and bold and greedy, as he raised his arms and let the shirtsleeves slide down his corded arms. A mole on the underside of his right bicep, a small scar under his left pectoral—details she didn’t need to know about him and would never forget.

      She followed him into the seating area, too agitated to sit.

      He took mercy on her and said, “We need to set expectations.”

      She nodded. “I’ll sign any document you put in front of me that I’ll never seek financial assistance. I’ll never hint, twist or manipulate you for marriage. Or demand that you be involved in the child’s life. I—”

      He leaned forward in the sofa, all the humor gone from his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

      “I just want to make it clear that I won’t be a headache for you, Leo.”

      He pressed a finger to his forehead, as if he was exercising patience he didn’t have. “In doing so, you’re insulting me.”

      “What? How?”

      “You want me to father a child, face off Mario, all the while offering no emotional or financial or even moral support?” His taut expression highlighted the rugged beauty of his features. “That makes me such a shining example of what a man should be, sì?”

      “I’m not sure I follow.”

      He sighed. “It’s a little...disturbing to be thought a man who thinks nothing of fathering a child as a favor and moves on.”

      Shock rendered Neha silent for long minutes. That was the last objection she’d expected. “You told me once that you innately don’t trust women, and when I said that that was horribly sexist, you said you didn’t have the slightest inclination to examine it, much less fix it.

      “You said...love was for fools who willingly bought into a bunch of compromises and then glorified it. You told that reporter you were ecstatic to let Massimo propagate the great Brunetti line further.

      “I assumed from our long association that being tied down isn’t in your future plans.”

      He ran a hand over his jaw. “Being tied down to a woman is one thing, a child, completely another.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “If I father a child, I will damn well be involved in that child’s life. Our long association should have told you that.”

      His softly spoken words packed a punch. Neha swallowed the defense that rose to her lips, slowly realizing that this wasn’t about her.

      It was about him, his...feelings. And he was right—in all the myriad scenarios she’d foreseen she hadn’t considered his feelings at all. “It wasn’t meant as a statement on what kind of a man you are.

      “I chose you because you’re the one man I know who’d do anything to protect an innocent in your sphere.”

      His gaze held hers, as if to see through to the truth of that.

      After a long time, he nodded and she let a breath out. “What does this mean, then?”

      “The child and its well-being is the most important thing in all of this, sì?”

      “I’ll love my child more than anything in the world. I’d do anything for her or him.”

      The hardness edged away from his eyes. “That’s the only reason I’ve come this far, bella. But you need to accept that I will never be an absent parent or a stranger.

      “I know what goes through a child’s mind when a parent abandons him or her. I can imagine what this child will hear from friends, well-wishers, every cruel, hard word and taunt. I will not willingly put any child of mine through that.”

      He had every scenario their child would face covered so thoroughly that Neha stared.

      How could she have forgotten that Leonardo’s mother had left in the middle of one night, leaving her five-year-old son to his father? How could she have forgotten the fact that she knew better than anyone what a wound that had left in Leo’s life?

       If Leonardo was a father in the true sense of the word...

      Mario’s shadow wouldn’t touch her child. He or she would have Leo’s guidance and support, Natalie and Massimo’s affection, be a part of a family. Everything she’d always wanted would be her child’s.

      The prospect of his involvement was such a tempting offer that Neha had to force herself to think of other implications. “Our relationship—”

      “Will be defined by the fact that we want what’s best for our child.”

      She nodded, the confidence in his tone building her own. They were rational adults, they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses—they could handle this rationally.

      “You said conditions. What else?”

      “I want you to postpone the announcement about your retirement. And, if required, your retirement itself. By a few months.”

      “No, absolutely not.”

      Her refusal rang around the room. It knocked Leo off axis to see the sudden fear and distrust in her eyes. Addressed toward him when he’d only ever seen respect.

      “Neha,” he started softly, reminding himself that, for whatever reason, she was fragile right now, “hear me out.”

      She stayed at the window, the waning sunlight from the skylight gilding her body in a golden outline.

      Even in the tense situation, he felt the tug of awareness on his senses that she so easily provoked.

      The loose white sheer tunic had a low neckline that presented him tantalizing glimpses of the upper curves of her lush breasts. The sheer fabric showed silky brown skin, and the shadow of her orange bikini, skimming the tops of her long, toned thighs. Pink nails peeked through the sandals she wore, completing a picture of such sheer sensuality that she took his breath away.

      From the moment he’d found her standing inside his bedroom—staring at his bed—he’d had the most overwhelming urge to pull that tunic up and away from her body until he could feast on the sexy curves underneath. With his eyes, hands and mouth.

      Damp hair stuck to her scalp, highlighting the classical bone structure of her face. He wanted to run his hands all over her, learn if she was as soft and silky as he imagined.

      She stood up from the sofa, walked to the door and back, to the windows and then back again, every step conveying restless energy. Without that elegant facade she put on like a second