Gianni's Pride (6 page)

Back home Tam had retrieved the card from the rubbish where their mother had thrown it and, unbeknown to her parents, called the number. It had turned out to be genuine and three weeks later she had successfully auditioned for a
part in an American soap. The show had never crossed the channel so her sister, although an instantly recognisable face in the United States even two years after the show was cancelled, could shop at the local supermarket at home without being asked for her autograph.

‘So you work in catering?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I teach … taught in the local comprehensive I went to as a kid.’
Too much detail if you want the man to stay awake, Miranda
.

He wants you
.

She closed her eyes for the duration of the primitive thrill that she felt all the way from her scalp to her toes.

‘Not very interesting, I know.’ She hated the vaguely apologetic note and could only hope he hadn’t picked up on it.

He had.

‘Isn’t it?’

Thrown again, this time not by his blunt declaration of lust but by the direct question, Miranda blinked, then dropped her gaze from his obsidian stare feeling totally flustered.

‘Not interesting compared to what?’

She was alarmed by the perceptive reasoning revealed behind his deceptively simple question and her head came up with a startled jerk. She said the first thing that came into her head, which, luckily, was not on this occasion,
Your mouth is beautiful
.

‘Does Liam like scrambled eggs?’

Gianni watched as she began to whip a bowl of eggs with a hand whisk. He had clearly touched a sensitive nerve. None of his business, he told himself.

‘Does he?’

Gianni looked at her blankly.

‘Like eggs?’

Gianni glanced down at his son, who had wandered back into the kitchen, and replied without thinking. ‘I don’t know.’

She didn’t say a word; she didn’t have to—the look she gave him made it perfectly clear what she thought of fathers who weren’t au fait with their sons’ dietary preferences before she dropped down to the boy’s level and put the same question to him.

Gianni’s son, after a brief questioning glance towards him, gave an identical reply in a loud childish treble.

‘How about if you try some and I’ll give you some bacon too?’ she said, cutting up a couple of crispy slices from the pan on the Aga. ‘How about some tomatoes …?’ The tomatoes in the greenhouse she had watered the night before had been groaning with fruit. She had picked some with the intention of making some chutney.

‘Aren’t you going to cut it up for him?’

Gianni, who had been about to do exactly that before his son managed to get the other half of his food on his clothes, found himself shaking his head. ‘He can manage.’

She glanced towards the little boy, who was better at handling a knife and fork than his terminally stubborn father was at taking anything resembling advice. ‘I hope you brought another change of clothes.’

Her amused smile made him want to … Actually even without the smile he had found himself wanting to kiss those luscious lips. He stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork and scowled. It was not the first time he had found himself attracted to an unsuitable woman. Unsuitable in his situation constituted any woman likely to want more than he was willing or able to give, but rarely, if ever, had his body responded with such immediate urgency to a woman the way it did to this redhead.

Of course he’d like to see her naked again but it wasn’t going to happen.

Dio
, he saw little enough of his son as it was, and the pressure of his workload … He shook his dark head slightly
as he banished the dangerous thoughts in his head—he was stretched thin enough without consciously adding emotional complications.

And she was.

You didn’t have to be a psychic to see this redhead would be the high-maintenance sort of woman.

‘What?’ Miranda asked, waving a fork in the direction of the man who was watching her when his scrutiny became impossible to ignore. ‘Has nobody ever told you that it’s rude to stare?’ She compressed her soft lips into a thin line, annoyed as much by the fact he got under her skin so easily as his astounding rudeness.

He rested his elbows on the table. ‘I’ve never seen anyone your size put away that much food,’ he admitted, watching her fork up another mound of golden, fluffy eggs.

‘I have a fast metabolism,’ she retorted, feeling like some sort of freak show. It was actually a relief when Liam knocked over his glass of juice and those dark disturbing eyes finally left her face.

When Liam had finished eating Gianni shooed him back out into the yard and helped himself to another coffee from the pot.

Miranda collected the plates and put them in the dishwasher. Aware of Gianni Fitzgerald’s silent presence, she opened the fridge and put the jug of milk back inside. The day was already warm and, if the weather forecast on the radio was to be believed, set to get a lot warmer.

She struggled to keep the eagerness from creeping into her voice as she directed her casual query to the man standing at the open stable door.

‘Would you like me to make you some sandwiches for the journey?’

‘Journey?’ he echoed, still watching Liam, who was chasing hens around the cobbled yard.

‘Well, I assume you’ll want to be going back to …’ Her slender shoulders lifted as she thought,
Wherever you come from
.

‘You assume wrong,’ he drawled, turning his head now to pin her with a look that once more struck her as cold and calculating. Under the smouldering surface and charismatic charm this man was, she recognised, cold—cold at the core. The only time that coldness was entirely absent was when he looked at his son, she realised.

A little shiver traced a path down her spine as the dark stare continued to pin her. It took a conscious effort to break the contact.

‘Call me Gianni—the women who have shared my bed generally do.’

Miranda shifted uncomfortably as the colour flew to her cheeks. ‘They invited you …’ She lifted her brows. ‘I’m assuming they invited you?’

‘You seem interested in my sex life.’

Her eyes narrowed in dislike as she encountered the speculative and not very kind gleam in his eyes. ‘I’m just thinking what a great role model you are for your son.’

In the blink of an eye the mocking lazy humour in his eyes morphed into narrow-eyed hostility. This man with his mercurial mood swings could, she realised with a little shiver, be ruthless.

Not the sort of person you wanted to antagonise. Knowing this, she still couldn’t stop herself adding, ‘It’s probably just as well you’re just a weekend father.’

His angular jaw tightened another notch. ‘I am not a weekend father.’ Just one who didn’t know if his son liked eggs. ‘I am a full-time parent.’

‘But what about his mother?’ She stopped and thought, Oh, God, have I just been as insensitive as hell? ‘Liam has a mother? I mean, she is … alive …?’

‘Sam is very much alive, she is just not— She has some contact with Liam but I have full custody.’

Some contact?

The clinical statement made Miranda shudder. ‘How terrible for her!’ It was inhuman, in her opinion, to take a child from his mother. The thought of being forced to give up your child—surely no woman would do so voluntarily—sent a fresh judder of pained horror through Miranda. ‘And poor Liam …’

His dark eyes flashed fire and the muscles around his mouth quivered in reaction to the accusing condemnation in the big eyes fixed on his face.

‘Liam does not need your pity,’ he snarled. ‘And neither does Sam. There was no coercion involved. I did not obtain custody under duress. Liam’s mother did not want us—’ He closed his mouth over further revelations.
Better late than never, Gianni
.

Dio
, what was he doing? She was not the first person to make this assumption, but this was the first time he had felt the need to justify himself and play the sympathy card.

The simmering silence stretched until it was broken by her gruff, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What the hell for?’ he ground out. ‘Being nosy?’

Hearing that ‘us’ again in her head and knowing instinctively that this man was never going to totally forgive her for seeing beyond the macho façade he presented to the world, she shook her head, wishing she hadn’t. He was the last person she had imagined she could feel empathy for, but she was. It had been more comfortable to view him as a smouldering, sexy but ultimately two-dimensional figure; when he was gone her equally two-dimensional lust would be gone too.

No worries—soon he would be and she could get back to feeding the goat and, what? Feeling sorry for herself? Wasn’t that what she had intended to do? Instead … the guilt switch
in her head clicked and her lashes moved downwards in a concealing sweep—she had not thought about the situation with Oliver or Tam all morning!

‘It’s none of my business.’

‘True,’ he retorted in a cold, clipped voice that should not have made her feel hurt but did.

‘What time do you plan on leaving?’ As far as Miranda was concerned it couldn’t be too soon!

‘I already said I’m not.’

She was appalled. ‘But you can’t stay here … obviously.’

Gianni’s dark brows lifted, emphasising the satyr-like slant she had previously noticed.
‘No …?’
he drawled.

‘It wouldn’t be … appropriate.’

He watched her attempt to compress her lips and fail totally; her lush lips would not accommodate prim. ‘How delightfully Victorian of you.’

Miranda refused to respond to the jibe.

‘And I’ve always had a certain talent for the inappropriate.’ His eyes drifted towards the soft outline of her spectacularly lush lips and any number of inappropriate actions occurred to him.

For a moment he could almost taste the sweetness and heat of her mouth as he slid his tongue deep … He pushed away the steamy images forming in his head, but not before the flash of testosterone-fuelled heat had settled painfully in his groin.

Dio
, what was happening to him? He had left this sort of indiscriminate lust behind in his teens.

‘How nice for you,’ she said frigidly. ‘But the fact remains that you’ll have to leave.’

‘Why?’

Was he trying to be obtuse? she wondered, watching as Gianni unlatched the bottom of the stable door before stepping out into the yard, yelling, ‘No, Liam, don’t open the
gate!’ to his son, who was trying to gain access to the paddock with the duck pond.

‘There’s not enough room.’

He turned his head and angled a wry look tinged with amusement back at Miranda over his shoulder. ‘Enough room? At last count there were five bedrooms.’ Though two at least he could not stand upright in.

Ten bedrooms would not be enough to make her feel comfortable sharing a roof with this man. Her eyes drifted to the vee of golden skin at his throat. He was golden all over—things low in her belly flipped as she failed to block out the earthy image that had imprinted itself in her brain.

‘Pity you didn’t choose one of those last night,’ she muttered under her breath as she slammed the fridge closed with unwanted force. She pitched her voice higher and added, ‘I meant …’ She paused, deciding it might not be such a good idea to say what she meant. Not even sure what she did mean … that he made her think inappropriate thoughts …?

‘You came to see your …’ she stopped, unable to bring herself to say aunt, finding the term too ludicrous to describe the relationship between the youthful and extremely gorgeous Lucy and this tall, rampantly Latin-looking man ‘… Lucy and she isn’t here, so there’s no need for you to stay.’

‘Actually there’s no need for you to stay,’ he countered as he leaned a hand on the door jamb and glanced towards his son before returning his attention to Miranda. The wind blowing in ruffled his gleaming dark hair, making it stand up in tufts around his face. He smoothed it back with an impatient gesture.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it right with Lucy.’

Miranda shook her head, bewildered by the promise. ‘Make it … right?’

It wasn’t until he reached into his pocket that she took his meaning.

‘Has she paid you up front?’ He extracted his hand empty … The lines around his eyes deepened as he tried to recall the last time he had seen his wallet.

A mixture of irritation and contempt on her face, Miranda lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want your money and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been paid to do a job and I have every intention of fulfilling my contract.’

‘I can look after the place for Lucy.’

Now that he considered the situation, Gianni could see there were advantages to Lucy being away. For starters he would not have to explain the situation to her—she never had made a secret of her disapproval for Sam, pronouncing herself unable to understand what motivated a woman who rejected her child, a woman who continued to risk her life doing the job she loved.

Gianni had tried to defend Sam, pointing out that Liam still had contact with his mother, she just left the hands-on parenting to him, but this cut no ice with Lucy.

‘This is my job. I’m not here on holiday—I’m here to work. I can’t walk away.’

‘What—run a duster around the place and feed a few animals?’

The disparaging but essentially accurate description of her job brought a scowl to Miranda’s brow.

‘I think I can manage that.’

Miranda found herself wishing he could also manage to fall flat on his perfect face.

His dark eyes swept her face. ‘I’m offering you a paid holiday here—who refuses an offer like that?’

Someone who didn’t want to go home in time to see the newly-weds return, seeing the glow in Oliver’s eyes when he looked at her sister.

‘A kind offer, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing. I’m being paid to do a job and I intend to do it.’

‘Let’s let Lucy decide. I think we’ll find that she’d prefer family to be here.’

‘Lucy rang yesterday when she landed—she’s staying somewhere without a landline and there isn’t a signal. She isn’t due to check in again until next week—’ Miranda broke off as a clucking hen ran through the kitchen door. Miranda clapped her hand, having more success in expelling this intruder. ‘I’m not leaving …’ She swallowed and heard the rising note of panic in her querulous addition, ‘I can’t!’