Claimed by the Italian. Christina Hollis

was an adult—a grounded adult—not some silly teenager drooling over some unattainable pop star, for goodness’ sake!

      Viewing her flushed features, the over-bright eyes, Paolo responded wryly, ‘You gave warning of an outcome that fills me with joy. I am not about to regret it. Now—’ His hands parted his suit jacket and slid into the side pockets of his elegant trousers, drawing Lily’s fascinated attention to the sleek narrowness of his hips. She swallowed roughly and he continued, ‘You know what I have proposed regarding the future well-being of Life Begins. In return I shall want you to spend a couple of days in London while I set the ball in motion. Then accompany me to Florence, where you will act the part of a newly engaged woman, satisfy my mother, and then return here.’

      ‘Get one of your leggy model-types to do it!’ Lily shot back at him, recalling with ire the serial simpering arm-candy blondes pictured clinging to him when she’d avidly scoured the internet for information about him, driven by a curiosity she hadn’t been able to control.

      His fascinatingly sexy mouth indented slightly, fabulous lashes lowering over the golden impact of his eyes. ‘What a short memory you have,’ he drawled, adding insult to injury when he added, ‘No way does a leggy blonde fit the description of a vertically challenged toffee-head. I described Lily Frome, my brand-new fiancée, down to her small nose—remember?’

      Outraged by his unflattering description of her, Lily fought to restrain the impulse to hit him. The words blistered her tongue as she got out, ‘I won’t do it! Go—and don’t come back!’ Adding, in case he wasn’t fully on message, ‘And take your funding offer with you—I won’t be paid to act out a lie to a trusting old lady!’

      ‘As you wish.’ Paolo dipped his dark head just briefly, his strong features giving nothing away. He knew precisely when to press a point and when to stand back and wait until, inevitably, his will prevailed.

      He walked towards the door, turned. ‘If you’re happy to disappoint your great-aunt and let down the people who rely on your help, so be it.’ And he left her.

      The now fuming bundle of scrawny womanhood needed time to cool down.

      CHAPTER THREE

      IT HAD taken only one restless night for her to reluctantly recognise that by turning down Paolo Venini’s offer of funding because of her principles she was being pretty selfish. An uncomfortable reality that had made sleep impossible.

      When she had arrived down for breakfast, drained and bleary-eyed, her great-aunt had clinched the matter by asking, with the eager chirpiness that had been missing for many months, ‘So, what did you think of Signor Venini’s proposal of funding? I told him that I, personally, was overwhelmed with gratitude, but that the final decision had to be yours, because of late I’ve been something of a passenger.’

      ‘Nonsense! Without you, and the need you saw, Life Begins wouldn’t even exist.’

      Lily had been worried over her elderly relative’s recent decline into a state of fretful anxiety. She’d tried to keep their financial problems from her, but the old lady was anything but a fool.

      ‘And without you it would have ceased to exist,’ Edith pointed out, forecasting, ‘Even with all the hard work you put in it still wouldn’t have been too long before we would have had to concede defeat—I may be ancient but I’m not senile!’ Sitting at the breakfast table, she poured tea and unfolded her linen napkin briskly. ‘Don’t hover, child. Eat your toast. I hope you were properly grateful to Signor Venini—with him as a benefactor we can go from strength to strength. I haven’t felt less troubled for many months. I feel ten years younger this morning.’

      So that meant two old ladies had been given reinvigorating hope—Signora Venini and Great-Aunt Edith—and Life Begins would continue to help those unable to help themselves. All courtesy of Paolo Venini’s blackmailing tactics!

      Driving to the Hall, swallowing her pride along with her conscience, was the hardest thing Lily had ever had to do. But stay on the high moral ground, as everything in her prompted, and she’d be letting so many people down.

      Opening the main door before she’d even had time to cut the engine—almost as if he’d been waiting for her—Paolo received her change of tune without the merest hint of surprise—as if he’d fully expected that, too—and only the very slightest dip of his sleek dark head informed her that he had actually registered her words.

      ‘Come. There is much to be done.’ Moving ahead of her, his stride long and loose, he led the way to the study. Dressed this morning in beautifully cut chinos and a midnight-blue cashmere sweater that hugged the impressive width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist like a second skin, he was super-spectacular, and—contrarily—made her wish she’d taken some trouble with her own appearance. Not rushed out barefaced, dressed in her badly fitting cords and shabby fleece that she usually wore when working.

      Vastly annoyed with herself for that unwelcome and foolish thought, she sat herself down when his abrupt hand gesture indicated the seat in front of the desk. She was beneath his notice. If she was dressed in jewel-encrusted satin with a crown on her head he still wouldn’t see her.

      And why the heck should she want him to notice her? Stupid! He might be gorgeous to look at, but he was rotten inside. A man who would lie to his own mother, a blackmailer, a womaniser, with a chunk of ice where his heart was supposed to be. Any woman who fell in love with him was doomed to bitter heartbreak or worse—as proven by what had happened to the wife who had begun to bore him!

      Seated, his hand near his cellphone, his tone was clipped as he told her, ‘The previous owner’s housekeeper and handyman husband occupied a spacious conversion in what used to be a stable block here. It will provide adequate living and office space for the fundraiser/organiser I intend to put in place. I’m interviewing two possibles tomorrow.’

      ‘You arranged that before you knew I’d agree to be blackmailed?’ Her face an outraged pink, Lily could have slapped him for his out-and-out arrogance—for the wealth and clout that ensured he could make things happen just because he wanted them to.

      A slight upward drift of one strong ebony brow dismissed her outburst, and he continued blandly. ‘You will give me the relevant details of your part-time volunteers—names, addresses, phone numbers—and I’ll persuade them to work full-time while you’re away. Make your diary available to me. I’ll drop by and convince your great-aunt that you need a short break. A chauffeur will pick you up at five to drive you to my London apartment, where I will join you in two days’ time—the night before we fly to Florence. I suggest you go home and pack.’

      ‘Can’t.’

      Everything was happening at breakneck speed. Lily felt as if she were being dragged by wild horses over uncharted territory, so it came as a powerful relief to find herself able to put a stop to his dictatorial handling of the situation. She met his eyes, iced-over gold, then tilted her small pointed chin at a stubborn angle.

      ‘I’m due at Maisie Watkins’ house. She’s recently had a hip replacement operation, so I walk her dog every morning and do a bit of cleaning for her. Then there’s other stuff. I’ll be working all day. There’s absolutely no need for me to kick my heels in your London pad when I could be here doing something useful!’ She almost added So there! but thought better of it, because he was looking at her as if she were an irritating fly that needed swatting.

      ‘There’s every need,’ he countered grimly, penetrating eyes sweeping with barely veiled distaste over her scraped-back hair and down to her scruffy trainers.

      ‘Madre is not simple-minded. She would never believe I plan to marry a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp,’ he condemned toughly, determined not to be swayed by the momentary flash of hurt in those clear grey eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped, as if she were trying to hide herself in that awful thing she wore above a pair of trousers that wouldn’t look out of place on a farm labourer.

      ‘I don’t mean to be unkind.’ The words,