A Dark Sicilian Secret. Jane Porter

saw the moment his words registered, saw it in the widening of her eyes and then the clenching of her jaw.

      “Your house?” she choked.

      He shrugged. “My house. My nanny. My hotel.”

      “What do you mean, your hotel? I’ve never stayed at an expensive hotel—”

      “But you’ve been employed by one the past sixty days, haven’t you?” He smiled faintly. “The Highlands Inn is part of my International Prestige Collection. Or did you not check that on Google?”

      Her lips parted. And her brown eyes practically shot daggers. Brown eyes. So very interesting. Her eyes had been a dark sapphire-blue some twenty months ago.

      “You set me up,” she whispered.

      “What did you expect? That I’d let you get away with abducting my son?”

      “I didn’t abduct him. I carried him, gave birth to him, loved him—”

      “Good. And now you can love him from the comfort and security of my home in Sicily.”

      “I will not live in Sicily.”

      “Fine. You can come and go, and visit us whenever you’d like, but the courts have agreed that based on your erratic behavior, and your inability to provide financially for the child, Joseph will make his permanent home in Paterno with me.”

      “But I have provided for him! I’ve always managed—”

      “With my help, yes. You forget, cara, that the courts are fully aware that I provided you with a home, a job and child care. They understand you couldn’t have survived without me.”

      Her hands balled into fists. “That’s not true. I was fine. We were both doing fine!” “So you say.”

      She fell back against the seat. “You tricked me.”

      “I did what I had to do to be with my son.”

      “And now that you have him?”

      “He’ll live in Paterno at my family home.”

      “What about me?”

      “You will live with us until he’s eighteen and then when he leaves for university, you can go, too. You’ll be free to travel, buy a new home, start a new life, but until then, you will live with us in my home.”

      Jillian dug her nails into her palms. “I’m a prisoner?”

      His gaze settled on her pale face, studying the high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips and strong chin. “Absolutely not. You’re free to come and go, but Joseph will remain with me, to be raised by me.”

      “So he’s the prisoner?”

      “He’s an infant, and my son. He needs guidance, and protection.”

      “From your enemies?”

      He regarded her steadily. “I have no enemies.”

      “Except for me,” she said beneath her breath.

      “You didn’t used to be.” He spoke the words just as softly, and her color stormed her face, staining her cheeks a hot pink, a clear indication that she also remembered how responsive she’d been in his bed.

      A translucent bead of water fell from a tendril at her brow to her temple. With an impatient swipe of her fingers she knocked the water from her face but not before he noticed how her hand trembled.

      She was flustered. Good. She should be. He was furious. Beyond furious. Jillian had hidden her pregnancy, until she had accidentally bumped into one of his employees while taking the baby for a walk. On hearing the news, he’d worked out the dates and rung her immediately. Jillian had the gall to first deny the baby was his, and then when he demanded a DNA test, she ran from him, keeping his son from him for nearly the entire first year of Joseph’s life.

      Jill should be punished. And there would be consequences.

      “In fact, I can still see you at the wheel of my new Ferrari in Bellagio,” he added. “You loved driving it, didn’t you? But then you loved everything about our time together at the villa in Lake Como. Including spending my money.”

      “You make it sound like I had a thing for your money.”

      “Didn’t you?” he countered, signaling his driver to move on.

      “No!” she answered fiercely, as fresh pink color darkened her cheekbones, highlighting the shape of her delicate face. “Your money meant nothing to me. It still doesn’t.”

      “So you didn’t enjoy the private jet, the villa, the servants, the car?”

      “Things don’t impress me,” she threw at him, averting her head once more, giving him a glimpse of her neck and nape.

      Her skin was pale, creamy, flawless, and his gaze traveled slowly over her, studying her elegant features and the mass of blond hair that hung in damp loose waves over her shoulders. The blond hair color was something new as well.

      “I see. You were there for me.” He studied her lazily, as though trying to decide if he liked her better as a glossy chestnut brunette or this California beach-girl blonde, but his lazy, relaxed demeanor was a façade, because on the inside he was wound hard, and tight.

      Never in his life had he been played the way she played him. Never. It still astonished him. Jill Smith had seemed so innocent. Sweet. Pure. God, he’d misjudged her. But now he knew, and he’d never be foolish enough to make that mistake again. “You cared for me.”

      She met his gaze directly, her chin lifting. “I did care for you.”

      “Past tense.”

      Her eyes looked enormous but she didn’t back down. “Past tense.”

      He glanced briefly out the window at the twisted, gnarled limbs of a cypress tree before focusing on her. “So what changed, Jill Smith?” he asked, emphasizing her name because her name, like the rest of her life, was invented. Jillian Smith didn’t exist. Jillian Smith was a fabrication. A very good one, but a fabrication nonetheless.

      Her lies had made it difficult to track her down, but he was persistent, and he’d succeeded.

      Now all that was left was bending her to his will to ensure his son’s health, wealth and happiness.

      “Nothing happened.”

      “No? Nothing happened?” One black eyebrow lifted quizzically.

      “No.”

      “No one whispered in your ear? No one told you something that sent you packing?”

      Her jaw dropped a little before she snapped it closed, and yet even then she looked sick. Scared. He wondered if that’s what she felt that day in Bellagio when his young housemaid told Jill he was part of the mafia. Silly housemaid to talk of things she knew little about. Silly girl to think he wouldn’t find out. His staff had to know there were security cameras everywhere.

      “What did you do to her?” Jill whispered hoarsely.

      “Fired her.” And then he rolled his eyes at Jill’s expression. “You think I’d hurt an eighteen-year-old girl for saying the word Mafioso? Ridiculous. That just proves how little you know of me. I am not a cruel man. I do not hurt people, or give orders to have people hurt. That’s barbaric.”

      And still she looked at him warily, her emotions volatile as fear, anxiety and uncertainty flitted across her face one after the other. “So you really do mean to take me to Sicily with you?”

      “Yes,” he answered decisively.

      “And you won’t keep me from Joe?”

      “Not as long as you cooperate.”

      A tiny pulse jumped at the base of her throat. “What