The Italian's Baby of Passion. Susan Stephens

it’s not the sort of thing I’d normally drop into the conversation, because it might sound a bit pretentious.’ She widened her eyes and adopted an expression of kittenish innocence. ‘Don’t you think?’ she appealed to him. ‘And,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘that sort of showing off might lead people to think I had a self-esteem issue.’

      The stunned look in his eyes gave her a moment’s intense, gleeful satisfaction.

      ‘I doubt anyone is going to think you have a self-esteem issue,’ Roman mused after a moment of startled, static silence. Whatever the hunched-shoulder stuff had been about, it had not been a confidence issue; her present manner made that obvious.

      She inclined her head and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, even though she was well aware his comment hadn’t been meant as a compliment.

      ‘Perhaps I didn’t get this right. I thought you worked in the nursery?’

      ‘I’m a nursery nurse,’ she agreed with pride.

      ‘Aren’t you a little overqualified for the job?’

      He stopped short of calling her a liar, but she could hear the amused scepticism in his voice. It was only by exerting superhuman restraint that Scarlet stopped herself supplying the names of referees who could confirm her qualifications and tell him how good she had been at her job.

      ‘Actually I was under-qualified,’ she explained calmly. ‘I retrained. I was looking for job satisfaction.’

      ‘Good for you!’ he applauded with teeth-clenching insincerity. ‘I’ve always said there’s no shame in admitting you can’t hack it.’

       Scarlet’s cheek muscles ached from maintaining a fixed smile. ‘You have no idea how much I value your opinion.’

      ‘I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea,’ he returned drily. ‘I believe you were very kind to my mother.’

      ‘She’s easy to be nice to; she’s nice…’ Scarlet literally bit her tongue to stop the flow of insults.

      One perfectly symmetrical brow dark against his even-toned golden skin lifted to a politely interrogative angle.

      ‘A very nice woman indeed,’ Scarlet mumbled indistinctly.

      She’d promised David—gosh, that seemed a lifetime ago now, not a few minutes—that she’d be on her best behaviour. Cutting the wretched man down to size was a self-indulgence she simply couldn’t afford. It was also something she might not be capable of, she conceded.

      Scarlet paused for a moment to consider her reckless behaviour objectively. The exercise gave rise to deep concern as she identified a worrying development, the adrenaline rush, the toe curling excitement she got from trading insults with him had a bizarrely addictive quality.

      ‘She was full of praise for you.’

      ‘She’s kind; I hardly did anything,’ she replied with suitable modesty, and for the second time that morning she had no argument. ‘Not even call for an ambulance.’ You just couldn’t leave well alone, could you, Scarlet?

      ‘Well, the best of us panic in a situation like that.’

      ‘That’s extremely understanding of you, but—’

      ‘Yes, it is nice of me, isn’t it? My assistant is worried I’ll make you cry.’

      ‘But,’ she added, sending him a glare of simmering dislike, ‘I didn’t panic!’ Scarlet announced, her chin lifting. ‘Cry…?’ she added as his last comment sank in. ‘I’m not going to cry!’ she said, sounding insulted by the suggestion.

      ‘I’m extremely relieved to hear it.’ His dark head tilted a little to one side as he examined her flushed, indignant face. ‘So you think you made the right call, then, and you’re prepared to defend your action, or rather lack of it?’

      ‘Of course I didn’t make the right call,’ she surprised him by conceding with a grimace.

      ‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘that wasn’t because I panicked, it was because I took notice of—’ She stopped abruptly, not wanting him to run away with the idea she was trying to pass the blame to someone else. ‘Is this an official complaint? Because if it is I don’t think you should be talking to me.’

      ‘It isn’t a complaint, official or otherwise, unless you particularly want it to be.’

      Scarlet’s jaw tightened at the blatant sarcasm in his voice. ‘Then you came to apologise for being so rude to me?’ she suggested innocently.

      The hooded lids lowered in a lazy fashion but there was nothing remotely lazy about the spark in his eyes. ‘Pushing it.’

      Scarlet conceded this lightest of warning with a shrug and rubbed the goose-bumps that had broken out over her forearms. When his voice dropped to a husky murmur that way it had an almost tactile quality.

      She had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t have minded it if she had ignored him. Roman O’Hagan was coming across as a man who enjoyed a fight and enjoyed winning even more. She could see why he didn’t lose often, his dark eyes contained a gleam in them that suggested he had the intelligence to match his stunning looks.

      The idea of pulverising him verbally was still an awfully attractive one, if deeply unrealistic.

      ‘You made quite an impression on my mother…you and your little daughter…?’ As this was just a matter of going through the motions there didn’t seem to be any need to be overly subtle about introducing the child into the conversation, Roman thought.

      ‘Son.’

      ‘Right,’ he drawled.

      He couldn’t have sounded less interested. It wouldn’t take much effort to make it a little less obvious he was here under sufferance, Scarlet thought, pursing her lips indignantly. ‘Sam,’ she supplied.

      Roman watched her face soften unconsciously as she said the kid’s name and thought, She isn’t actually that bad-looking. His long lashes lowered, half concealing his eyes as he considered her small heart-shaped face—good skin, nice hair; it was a shame about the glasses, and of course the bizarre sense of style.

      But he wasn’t here to organise a make-over, he reminded himself. He was here to convince his mother she didn’t have any grandchildren running around the country.

      ‘My mother was concerned her collapse might have alarmed…Sam.’

      ‘He didn’t take it personally.’ Her attempt at levity didn’t evoke any response. God, this was heavy going. He had two modes; silent and nastily sarcastic. Clearly scintillating conversational skills were not part of his attraction! But then she already knew that his attraction was much more basic.

      Her bland smile became strained as she ran her tongue across her dry lips and swallowed to relieve the nervous occlusion tightening her throat. ‘Tell her he’s fine.’ Oh, God, please let this be over soon.

      Her hazel eyes flickered to her wrist-watch. Ten minutes to lunch time, one of the busiest times of the day in the nursery. She shifted her weight restively from one leg to the other and repressed a sigh as she lifted her head.

      She flushed lightly as Roman O’Hagan angled his sable brows expressively.

       ‘Sorry, I should be somewhere else,’ she explained, trying hard to make it sound as if this were something she was sorry about.

      ‘Am I boring you?’ Women didn’t make a habit of looking at their watches when they were in his company. ‘Or should I have made an appointment?’

      The sardonic note in his rich velvet voice brought the colour rushing back to her cheeks.

      ‘Well, if I’d had a little warning I could have told you that today isn’t very convenient,’ Scarlet agreed bluntly. ‘I realise,’ she added, ‘that my time isn’t as valuable as