The Mills & Boon Stars Collection. Cathy Williams

surprisingly deep and yet she was wryly amused by her apparent vulnerability towards his low opinion of her morals. He thought she was Julie and while she faked being Julie she had to own her sister’s mistakes and pay the price of them too.

      Luciano watched her porcelain-fair skin wash a guilty pink that simply accentuated the ice-blue eyes, which reminded him of very pale aquamarines he had once glimpsed in his mother’s jewellery box. Those eyes and that full, soft pillowy mouth were snares that any man would zero in on, he told himself, his attention widening its scope to encompass the full, buoyant swell of her breasts below the simple tee she wore. He wondered what colour her bra was and marvelled at the ludicrous thought. What was he? A randy schoolboy? He had access to many sexual choices and almost any one of those women would be classier, safer and more beautiful than Jemima Barber, he reminded himself impatiently. Even so, it was his son’s mother who was making him hard and taut and needy where it mattered, when he was all too often indifferent to female fawning and flirtation.

      But then possibly what annoyed him most about Jemima was that he had yet to see any sign that she was making the smallest effort to sexually attract him. She did not appear to be wearing make-up and her plain denim skirt came to her knees while she sat with her pale slim legs neatly and modestly folded to one side. It was like a simulated virginal act, he reasoned in exasperation. Possibly she had already worked out that hooker heels and too much exposed female flesh were not his style.

      Sex was no big deal, he thought impatiently. That was a truth he had embraced long ago. He didn’t make time for sex, though, and perhaps that explained his reaction to his son’s mother. Possibly any reasonably appealing woman would have given him the same response. But the nanny did nothing for his libido, he conceded, and neither did any of the very attractive female staff he employed. No, Jemima Barber had something special about her, something insidiously sexy he had yet to pin down and label, and it drew him like a very strong magnet. And he loathed it, loathed it like poison in his system, because she was everything he despised in a woman.

      The silence smouldered like a simmering pot on a gas hob. Jemima could feel heat striking through her, spreading up from the warmth in her pelvis. He did that to her. He made her tummy fill with butterflies. He made an embarrassing hot, slick sensation pulse between her thighs. He made her nipples tighten and push against the barrier of her bra.

      That reality mortified and shamed her and reminded her of her first crush as a teenager when her body had gone haywire with a physical longing she hadn’t understood and hadn’t really been ready to embrace. But this was different because those responses were now attacking her adult body. She found herself studying that gorgeous face of his even though she didn’t want to stare, didn’t want to notice the perfection of his sleek cheekbones, the classic jut of his nose or the strong line of the jaw cradling that superbly masculine mouth. And then she fell into the dark and dangerous enticement of his deep-set eyes that were tigerish gold in the light from the window and once she looked she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even function, she thought in bemused dismay.

      The door opened and an older woman came in carrying a tray. Coffee was poured. Luciano took his black and without sugar. Jemima took hers milky and sweet, their differences as pronounced in coffee as in everything else.

      Cradling his cup in one elegant, long-fingered hand, Luciano murmured, ‘I’ve decided that I want you to accompany us to Sicily as the nanny you offered to be...’

      Shock made Jemima’s lower lip part from her upper and she breathed again and a little faster, her eyes widening at that bombshell of a suggestion.

      ‘It would ease the transition for my son but it would be on the strict understanding that you would begin stepping back from him while allowing others to step forward to take your place in his little world,’ Luciano spelt out coolly. ‘He must learn to do without you.’

      Jemima tried and failed to swallow as he described the role. He had delivered the killing blow of truth by telling her what he ultimately expected and wanted from her. Sicily and the nanny job would be very temporary for her and would come at a high cost for a woman who loved the child she cared for. She lost colour, pain knotting inside her at the prospect of walking away from Nicky, but at the same time with every word Luciano Vitale spoke she saw that whether she liked it or not he was worthy of her respect as a father. He detested her yet he still recognised the strength of her bond with his son and he was keen to protect Nicky from getting hurt. How could she judge him badly for that? A more gradual process of parting Jemima from her nephew should work much better than a sudden break, she reasoned unhappily. Luciano was taking the sensible, cautious approach to the problem.

      Her silence perturbed Luciano, who had expected instant eager agreement. Didn’t Jemima Barber worship money and the high life? Wasn’t she a fish out of water in her parents’ modest home? He had assumed that was why she had made the strange offer to take on the role of acting as her son’s nanny. After all, only that position would grant her entry into Luciano’s wealthy, exclusive and privileged world. She was also broke, in debt and had to be afraid of the police catching up with her, so a trip abroad should have all the appeal of an escape hatch.

      ‘Have you changed your mind about that offer?’ Luciano asked in surprise.

      ‘Well, it was an impulse of the moment offer,’ Jemima admitted ruefully. ‘I didn’t really think it through. It was provoked by the prospect of parting from Nicky—’

      ‘Sicily may make the process a little less traumatic,’ Luciano commented tongue-in-cheek, reckoning that a few little treats like shopping trips round the fashion houses would quickly improve her attitude. Of course, he knew she wanted more and he was prepared to give her more to oil the wheels of persuasion. ‘If you agree, I will naturally settle your debts here in the UK and compensate the men whose credit cards you stole so that they will drop the charges. That would remove the threat of arrest as well.’

      In shock at that smoothly outlined proposition, Jemima snatched in a stark breath of astonishment and studied him with frowning eyes. ‘But it wouldn’t be right to let you pay those bills.’

      Luciano raised a cynical brow. ‘Of course you will be happy for me to settle your debts,’ he countered forcefully. ‘That is the sort of woman you are. Why are you trying to pretend otherwise?’

      At that direct and unsettling question, Jemima flushed and hurriedly dropped her eyes. Julie would never have argued against such a benefit. In that he was quite correct. Her twin had always happily taken money to settle her problems and fulfil her dreams and not once had she protested or done anything that would have worked against her own natural interests. So, if Jemima was still set on pretending to be Julie, she had to bite her lip and go with the flow. She tried to take a sensible overview of her situation. The debts Julie had acquired in Jemima’s name were a major source of worry to both her and her parents. To be free of that pressure would be wonderful, she acknowledged guiltily.

      ‘And quite naturally I don’t want my son’s mother dragged into court over debts or dishonesty,’ Luciano pointed out without hesitation.

      But I’m not your son’s mother, she suddenly wanted to tell him, because the web of her deceit was getting thicker and harder to justify. And what would happen if she simply told him the truth now? Would he still take her with them to Sicily? Still offer her the chance to learn how to part gently from the baby she loved? Jemima thought not. She stole a glance at him from below her lashes. She had lied to him. If he found that out, he would be so angry he would snatch up his son and walk away. He wasn’t a forgiving or understanding or tolerant man. Furthermore the only thing she had to offer on his terms was that she was supposedly the mother of his son. Shorn of that borrowed status, she would have no standing whatsoever in his eyes.

      ‘Obviously not,’ Jemima conceded tightly before she could lose her nerve again. ‘I’ll come to Sicily with Nicky—’

      ‘Niccolò,’ Luciano corrected without hesitation.

      ‘He’ll always be Nicky to me,’ she fielded quietly, refusing to give ground.

      Something bright flashed in his dark gaze, lighting his eyes gold like the dawn sky,