The Italian's Baby Bargain. Kate Walker

      ‘I haven’t…’ Her voice faded away as her eyes connected with his.

      ‘And,’ he continued, once she had lapsed into silence, ‘inviting the attention of any psychopathic lunatic who happens to drive by. You either have an unhealthy addiction to danger or you have no sense of self-preservation whatever. I suspect both,’ he concluded grimly.

      The awful part was, he had a point. ‘Well, I’d prefer to get into a car with a psychopath than you!’ she blurted out childishly. Then, lowering her eyes, she added in a small voice, ‘Could I use your phone?’

      At that moment another articulated truck went by and blasted its horn.

      Alessandro followed the vehicle with his eyes until it vanished from view over the brow of the hill. When he turned his attention back to her his jaw was set and his eyes held a steely look of determination.

       ‘Get in!’

      His attitude did not suggest compromise, but she’d try anyway. She looked at his mouth, and her defences slipped just enough to let through one forbidden thought. I kissed that.

      If she got into that car who was to say she wouldn’t repeat the performance? Chance would be a fine thing. She took a deep breath and told herself sternly that thinking that way was going to get her into trouble.

      ‘If you would just let me use your ph—’

      ‘Get in, or I will put you in,’ he interrupted, not sounding like a man with kissing on his mind. ‘I have no intention of being interviewed by the police as the last person who saw you alive.’

      Sam paled a little at the image his brutal words conjured. ‘There’s no need to be so dramatic.’

      Ignoring her scornful complaint, he swivelled his eyes significantly towards the door of the car. ‘I do not have all day.’

      Sam hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t…?’ Their eyes met and she gulped. He would.

      I need therapy, she decided, appalled by the gut-tightening excitement in her belly. When did I turn into the sort of woman who gets turned on at the idea of being man-handled? Her eyes ran up the long, lean length of the man who stood there radiating impatience, and she thought, Not any man.

      With as much dignity as a person who was literally dripping could muster, she arranged herself in the front seat as he stood and watched. His expression suggested that the outcome had never been in question.

      Did people always do what he wanted? she wondered as she snuggled down into the cream leather upholstery. She looked blankly at the hand he’d inserted.

      ‘Keys…I need to lock up your car. Not that it would be the car of choice for most self-respecting car thieves,’ he said, sliding a contemptuous look towards her ancient Morris Traveller.

      ‘It’s a classic,’ she said, dropping the keys into his palm. ‘And it has character.’

      ‘It’s a heap. And it doesn’t go,’ he contradicted, before slamming the door.

      Cocooned from the rain and wind, the quiet interior of the car felt like the eye of a storm. Despite the relative warmth, she shivered as she became conscious of the clammy coldness of layers of drenched clothes against her skin.

      She tried to wring some of the excess moisture from her hair while she examined her surroundings. Nice—but then you’d expect Alessandro to travel first class—and big too, she thought, stretching her legs out. Big, but not nearly big enough. Her heart started to beat out an erratic tattoo against her breastbone as she thought about spending any time in such close proximity with him.

      It stood to reason there must have been an alternative solution to her dilemma, that didn’t involve being touched by Alessandro or locking herself into a confined space with him. Quashing the growing sense of panic she felt as she looked around the interior of the car, she closed her eyes and reflected on the unfortunate fact that around him she acted like someone suffering from oxygen deprivation.

      She was wondering whether it might not be better to brave the elements and any passing bad guys when the door was wrenched open. She stiffened as the interior of the car was for a moment filled with cold wet air, followed by the elusive male scent of the exclusive fragrance he favoured.

      ‘Here,’ he said, handing her the keys.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, fumbling as she tried not to touch his fingers. She lifted her head in time to see him shrug off his drenched jacket.

      A sigh shuddered through her body. Oh, my God!

      His white shirt had been rendered totally transparent by the rain, and clung like a second skin, revealing every individual muscle and hard contour of his lean, bronzed torso. Her breathing quickened as she tore her fascinated gaze away from the tantalising shadows created by drifts of dark body hair.

      ‘Take your coat off,’ he suggested, casually slinging his own jacket into the back seat.

      She shook her head and clutched at the lapels of her knee-length pink trench coat. ‘No, thanks,’ she croaked. ‘You could drop me at the first service station. There’s one in the next village along, I think.’

      He slung her an impatient look before pulling off the grass verge. ‘Two petrol pumps and a tin hut, as I recall. Even if they did happen to be open for business at nearly eight p.m. I doubt if they’d retrieve your car until the morning.’

      ‘Eight…?’ Her expression shocked, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. She hadn’t realised until that point how long she had been standing there. Lips pursed, she slid him a belligerent look. ‘I suppose you think I should say thank you?’

      ‘Not if it’s too painful.’

      ‘The tyre was bald…?’ She looked at his hands on the steering wheel, then looked quickly away as she felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten. Her sensitised nostrils quivered. The car was heating, intensifying the disturbing scent of warm, wet male mingled with the subtle fragrance Alessandro favoured. Short of not breathing, it was impossibile not to inhale the heady concoction.

      ‘Totally.’

      Looking out of the window, her posture rigid, Sam missed the amused sideways glance he slid her.

      ‘Why would I lie about such a thing?’ he asked. ‘Unless, of course, you think this is all part of a plot to have you at my mercy?’

      ‘Very funny.’

      ‘You are cold?’

      Sam, who was very conscious of the trickles of sweat running down her back, shook her head.

      ‘Then why are you shaking?’

      ‘I’m not,’ she lied. Then, because she clearly was, she added gruffly, ‘My clothes are wet.’

      ‘How long were you standing in the rain?’

      ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll have a nice bath when I get home.’ Anticipating the luxuriant soak that lay ahead, she sighed—and missed the flare of heat in his eyes as they swerved briefly from the road ahead.

      The silence between them, which wasn’t anything close to cosy or comfortable, stayed unbroken until he drove straight past the turn-off for the motorway a couple of miles farther down the road.

      ‘This isn’t the right road.’

      ‘It is for where we are going,’ he responded, with aggravating calm.

      Sam glared at him, bristling with suspicion. Just as she was about to demand an explanation he slowed, and with a display of fast reflexes avoided a cat that darted across the road. The action made her think of the accident which had killed his parents. Had it been difficult for him to get in the driver’s seat again? If it had you certainly couldn’t tell from his calm, competent manner at the wheel of the big powerful car.

      ‘I saw that programme last